


Means to an End

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March [10]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 110,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conspiracies.  Double-dealings.  Intrigue. </p>
<p>Arthur has had it with being manipulated, with waiting for something to happen, with not being in control.  The enemy's playing games and has every intention of using them and throwing them away like a two-bit hooker past their prime, and, honestly?  The team's done with this rubbish.  They've been pushed around, kept in the dark, strung along.</p>
<p>Now it's time to push back, to take risks, and to hope it's not going to go all to Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters to Merlin(TV) and am not profiting from this work.
> 
> This is part ten in the Loaded March series, and it has been beta'ed. Any mistakes, however, are solely my own. Thanks to Tygermine for translation and S'Affra advice!
> 
> Fair warning: this is a military fic, and there will be military violence. In this part? A _lot_ of violence.

* * *

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**ooOOoo**

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****

 

"All this fucking waiting. I don't know who's going to die first -- us or Arthur," Gwaine groused, swallowing the last of his beer before dropping the empty bottle in the bin next to the cooler. He reached over, plucked a fresh beer from the six-pack Bohrs had brought out earlier, and flicked the ice in Merlin's direction. "Can't you distract him?"

"Oi, you lazy arse. Just because you're letting yourself go, that's no reason I should cover for you," Merlin said. He leaned back, feet up against the railing, and stared out at the manicured yard. The hedges were perfectly trimmed, though they were tall enough to block them from view. The yard itself was enclosed in a mixture of brick and wood fencing, but half of it was already blooming with a rainbow of colours despite the persistent cloud cover that had fallen over London during the last few days. Weeks? Definitely weeks. 

Bohrs had done all this in his free time, proving a sure rival to Arthur's otherwise expensive gardener. Apparently, he was a budding horticulturist, and the team had yet to let up on their merciless teasing. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't walked in on Bohrs on his knees, wearing a flowery apron and matching gloves, _talking_ baby nonsense to the tulips.

"Never mind Gwaine. What about the rest of us?" Kay adjusted the ice pack on his shoulder. He'd been Kendo-sparring with Arthur earlier in the day. Kay had gotten as good as he'd given, but it wasn't often that _anyone_ could batter Kay the way Arthur had done. "He's put us on a twenty-K run tomorrow morning."

"Plus PT," Percival said. He didn't bother to muffle his groan.

"Not to mention signing us up for MMA training," Gwaine added, using the railing and a sharp strike with the palm of his hand to pop the cap off the beer bottle. "Not that I'm complaining, because that shite looks like fun, but setting us up to train with _pros_? That cage match did something to his head."

"What do you want me to do, then? Let him fuck me through the mattress? Sorry to disappoint, but we're way ahead of you there --"

"We know. We can hear," Kay said dryly.

"-- so what more can I do?" Merlin gave Kay an apologetic glance. Merlin had always been loud, but he supposed it was a little harder to ignore them having spontaneous sex when they were fucking everywhere from the garage to the kitchen.

"Let him fuck you through the wall," Gwaine suggested with a shrug.

"The floor," Perceval said.

"The couch," Gwaine said.

"The shower," Perceval said.

"Not the kitchen. Please, God. Never again in the kitchen. I can't look the peanut butter in the eye anymore," Kay said. Merlin's cheeks coloured. It wasn't his fault that Kay had left the jar out on the counter after he'd made himself a midnight snack. It wasn't his fault that Arthur had developed a sudden food kink that involved using Merlin's cock as a spoon for the peanut butter or that Merlin had found it awfully hot, and it _definitely_ wasn't Merlin's fault that Kay had picked that moment to have a second midnight snack attack. 

Gwaine snickered softly. Kay's high-pitched ("No, it was not _girly_ , damn you!") shriek had brought everyone running into the kitchen. The only reason Gwaine wasn't making any of his usually sleazy remarks right now was because two nights later, Merlin had gone down to the kitchen and had caught Gwaine and Perceval trying it out for themselves.

Apparently Perceval _really_ liked peanut butter. With honey.

"At the very least, make him stop checking his fucking phone every five fucking minutes," Kay said.

Merlin tilted his head and half-nodded, half-shrugged. He couldn't really find fault with the request. It had been supremely irritating when, in a post-coital cuddle, Arthur had run his hand down Merlin's spine before reaching over to the side table for his phone.

"And how am I supposed to do that? He's surgically attached to his bloody phone. Every time he thinks he hears something, he checks the phone. If it vibrates, he checks it. He takes it to the fucking loo is what he does," Merlin said with a grumble. He sipped his beer. It was down to its last, foamy dregs, and his stomach was too upset for him to think about reaching for another.

Ever since the cage match -- the Medieval Version -- Arthur had been on edge. He had, all on his own, shown up the members of the NWO, giving their man what-for and proving that he really was better than them all. It was a very Arthur thing to do -- it was a very _Excalibur_ thing to do, because none of the team would give anything but their very best, succeeding even when they were expected to fail -- but now…

Arthur wouldn't come right out and say it, but the team knew it all the same. He was second-guessing himself. And, Merlin, who curled up next to him in bed every night, heard Arthur's doubting questions of whether if he'd gone too far, if perhaps he hadn't been meant to win, that, by winning, he had ruined their chances of getting into the NWO, bollocksing up their mission in the process.

Merlin's responses had ranged everywhere from "Don't be a fucking idiot" to "Oh my God, you've turned into bloody _Gilli_ ", and when those failed to draw a snort of derision from Arthur, he proceeded to snog him senseless and finish off with a blow job in the hopes of distracting Arthur. It worked -- temporarily.

But now, Arthur's behaviour was well past merely obsessive, and had taken a sharp ninety-degree turn into mania. Arthur hated failing; he hated more knowing that he was responsible for the team failing anything.

Merlin looked around. "I notice no one's giving me any ideas here."

"Fresh out, mate," Gwaine said, tipping his bottle back for a sip.

There were noises inside the house -- doors opening and slamming shut, the thromp of footfalls across the hall. Merlin craned his neck around and saw movement, but not much else. The sliding door opened, and Bohrs stuck his head through, sighing wearily.

"Arthur says to get your fucking arses inside where you're not making yourselves targets to snipers," Bohrs said.

"Well, tell the princess that our Merlin's made us invisible and we're perfectly fucking safe," Gwaine muttered.

Bohrs paused and looked at Merlin. "Your spell's not working. I can see you."

Merlin waved a hand to gesture away from them. "Yeah, but they can't."

"Oh. Nice one," Bohrs said. He glanced over his shoulder. "But also, no. I'm not telling him anything. He's in a right foul mood, that one."

"What did you do now, drive his precious car over the kerb?" Kay asked.

"Fuck you too, that only happened the once, and I was meaning to avoid the tram coming our way. Not my fault the car needed an alignment," Bohrs said. "No, it's a tie between him being a surly git waiting for his boyfriend to give him a call --"

Merlin raised his hands when everyone turned to look at him. "Don't look at me, I've been keeping to the schedule."

"-- or it has something to do with trying to access some data and finding out that someone corrupted the network database."

"What?" Merlin sat up straighter. "When did that happen?"

"Soon as we got in. He flicks on his lappy and gets a dead screen. Took most of the day to sort it through, and Uther put him in charge of overseeing the restoration, but there's still a few teragigs worth of data missing."

"Well, fuck," Merlin said, putting down his beer. "I don't suppose Morgause had the decency to give him a call to lighten his mood?"

"You think he'd be a bloody pillock if she had?" Bohrs asked, reaching up to loosen his tie. "Of course she didn't call."

"Of course," Gwaine muttered.

"Great, we're in for another lovely evening of piss and moan," Kay said, rolling his eyes.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose before getting to his feet. "No, Christ. I'm done with this."

"Good luck, mate," Bohrs said, clasping him on the shoulder as he walked past.

"Where do you want us to send the ashes?" Gwaine asked. 

Merlin turned around, stuck two fingers up in Gwaine's direction, and headed up the stairs.

Predictably, the bedroom door was shut. And equally predictably, Arthur was pacing across the bedroom. In the last few days, he had worn a track in the carpet that would likely remain there for years to come. Merlin did not look forward to tripping over the edge every morning.

Arthur was still in his business suit, impeccable as always; the only wrinkles were on the back of his knees where he'd been sitting down. His jacket was unbuttoned, but that was the extent of his attempts to change out of his clothes and get into something more comfortable.

His phone was against his ear, his brow was pinched in a frown, and he looked like he was in pain. "…and I don't want to hear it. If you haven't restored everything from the backup by tomorrow morning, you're bloody well fired --"

Merlin shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Arthur's side of the conversation was an enlightening revelation of "… what do you mean, you still can't locate the backup…" and "… no, you're not getting overtime for this, it's your _job_ to manage the server. Where the fuck were you when it went down last night?" and "… I don't _care_ that your daughter's having a recital in the morning. Uther's got a _presentation_ to give in the morning, and his files are on the server. Which of these do you think your job hinges on?"

Merlin stayed quiet throughout, waiting for Arthur to both finish the dressing-down and to notice that he was there.

Arthur hung up a few minutes later, and in almost the same movement, checked for missed messages.

Merlin rolled his eyes. 

" _Someone_ was supposed to come home for dinner," Merlin said. He ignored the venomous look Arthur shot him and crossed his arms. 

"Some of us have to work, _Mer_ lin," Arthur snapped.

"And some of us don't have to take that tone," Merlin remarked. "So, unless you want me to disassemble your bloody phone, you're going to put it down right now and take a deep breath."

Arthur glared at Merlin. Merlin raised both eyebrows and waited. It wasn't quite a Mexican standoff -- Arthur was most likely armed, but Merlin sincerely doubted that a threat against his cell phone was enough for Arthur to pull his gun on Merlin -- but bit by bit, Arthur's shoulders sagged and he tossed his phone on the bed.

It bounced.

"You're wound up tighter than a clockwork spring," Merlin said. "Don't think for a minute we haven't noticed and that we couldn't possibly understand why. I'm going to tell you three things, and I want you to listen."

Arthur gestured sullenly, and unknotted his tie.

"First, you didn't fuck up. If you'd done any less than thrash that pillock's arse, no one would've believed you. It was a fucking joke, okay? I don't know what they were thinking -- the bloody _Directory_ doesn't know what they were thinking -- but they insulted us by sticking us with Bryn and Tristan, so, fuck them. They'll call us. It's just a matter of time. You said it yourself. It's a waiting game. They want to see if we'll crack. And, believe me, you're cracking right now. Stop it."

Arthur stuck out his jaw stubbornly, as if about to answer, but turned away instead. He shrugged out of his coat.

"Second, this whole network going down and files going missing thing? _Really_ suspicious," Merlin said. Experience had taught him that hacking through the servers wasn't easy, and he knew from the infrastructure of the network itself that it was very, very hard to bring it down, even temporarily. Pendragon Consulting had backup systems coming out of their bloody _ears_ \-- batteries, generators, surge protectors, digital tape recorders, hard drive after hard drive, servers and redundancies -- it was overkill on an insane level.

Merlin didn't include how he thought it was strange that Uther would put Arthur in charge of overseeing the reinstatement of the network server and all the files, considering that there were far more qualified people than Arthur. Merlin didn't mention how he had a hopefully-wrong gut feeling that this whole thing had occurred at a convenient time to keep Arthur busy and distracted so that he didn't notice anything else happening in the background. Instead, he said, "I have a brilliant idea. Once they have the server back up, I'll hack in and find out why it went down in the first place, and better yet, I'll find out which files are missing, yeah?"

That got some sort of response from Arthur, who grunted as if mollified.

"And third, since there's nothing that we can do until they get their heads out of their arses and find the reset button, you're going to change, and we're going to go out."

"What? No, Merlin. We've got eyes on us. Damn it, you know that. You're the one who pointed out the magic perimeter around the house, watching us," Arthur said, turning around. His shirt was unbuttoned and pulled out of his pants.

That strip of revealed skin over taut muscle was enough to make Merlin forget all of his arguments. He blinked and shook his head.

"And whose eyes are they? We've known the Directory has been out there since the beginning, but they're pap at this." Arthur was unmoved, and Merlin switched to another tactic. " _Clearly_ , if we're being watched at this level, the NWO's involved, and they're just waiting to catch us unawares."

If Arthur noticed that Merlin had been imitating him, he made no sign. "Exactly the reason why we're not going out."

"Don't be a prat," Merlin said. "We're going out. Just get dressed, yeah?"

Merlin made a shooing motion when Arthur made no inclination to move.

"The world's still going to end if you're sat on the sofa twiddling your fingers waiting for it to happen. Now go, or I'll change you myself, and you know my magic's taste in clothes trends toward the bright neons and mismatched plaids," Merlin said, wriggling his fingers in warning.

Arthur's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but Merlin measured his success by the width of Arthur's faint smile. Arthur headed toward the walk-in closet. "Fine. Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd play it by ear," Merlin said, which was Merlin-ese for _don't have a clue_. "Get you some dinner, maybe catch a film. Little romantic walk along the Thames, a couple of beers at the pub, maybe a bathroom shag."

Arthur emerged from the walk-in, raising a brow. He was shirtless and his trousers were undone. "What was the last one?"

"Bathroom shag," Merlin repeated. 

Arthur's brows furrowed, his lips pursed, and he nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought you'd said."

He disappeared into the closet. When Merlin heard the sounds of fabric rustling, he judged it safe enough to stop guarding the door. Arthur's voice was muffled when he asked, "Who's coming with us? Gwaine and Perce?"

"No one."

Arthur emerged in dark jeans and a fitted shirt, buttoning it up but leaving the neck open. "No one?"

"No one," Merlin said firmly.

Arthur heaved a deep breath, shaking his head. "What's wrong with you? We're undercover. We have to maintain appearances --"

Merlin crossed the distance between them, put his hands on either side of Arthur's face, and shut him up with an awkward kiss that turned filthy in a matter of seconds. If it weren't for Arthur's arms in the way, Merlin would have reached down to unbutton those jeans.

Instead, he pulled away, and gave Arthur a _look_.

"What's wrong with _you_? I'm a bloody sorcerer. Do you think I'm that arsed by the Directory watching us? By the NWO's magical perimeter? Fuck the cover. We're going out, just you and me. No playacting, no bloody role-playing. We're owed this."

"Merlin," Arthur began, but his shoulders had slumped, and Merlin knew that he'd won.

"Rule number one. No arguing."

"Oh? Is that the way it's going to be?"

Merlin nodded. "Oh, yes. That's the way it's going to be."

"What are the rest of the rules?"

"I don't know. We'll make them up as we go." 

Arthur snorted, but he shrugged free of Merlin's arms long enough to retrieve his wallet and his phone. Merlin snatched his phone out of his hands. "Hey!"

"Rule number two," Merlin said, cracking through the security screen and reconfiguring the settings, "You're not allowed to answer phone calls. If the phone call you're waiting for comes in, it'll ring through to mine, yeah? Then we'll ignore it and let _them_ sweat for a change."

"Merlin," Arthur warned, his tone dark.

"Arthur," Merlin said, raising a brow. "You think I give a shite about them, seeing what this mission's doing to you? Well, I don't. Not one dull penny's worth. Now, let's go."

Merlin marched Arthur down the stairs, paused a moment to head for the back yard to let the others know they were going, compounded it with a cheeky "Don't wait up" that left Gwaine grinning and Kay groaning, and pulled Arthur to the front door. He twined his fingers through Arthur's hand.

"Don't let go until we're past the perimeter, yeah? I'm going to make it so they don't see us and don't even know we're crossing over."

Arthur grunted.

Merlin reached for the door handle.

"They're going to see the door open and close," Arthur groused.

"Oh, don't be a bloody stick in the mud," Merlin said. "They're not going to see anything. I'll make sure of it."

They walked out, went down the steps, and turned left. Merlin whistled. Arthur shot him an alarmed glare. 

"Can't see us, can't hear us," Merlin said, letting his magic thicken around them both as they approached the perimeter. It was a rather flimsy one at that -- the NWO couldn't completely block out who crossed it, and they couldn't identify who crossed, either; there was only so much work that they could put into the perimeter on short notice. They walked through it without so much as making a ripple in the proverbial pond.

Merlin held onto Arthur's hand for a while longer for good measure. Every step they took away from the house, Arthur would glance around, his senses on alert. And every step they took, the more Arthur seemed to relax.

As much as a SAS officer could relax, anyway.

They headed for the Underground. This hour of the evening, the trains were full, but not packed like sardine tins; after a quick scan of their surroundings, Merlin let their _look away, we're not here_ camouflage fade away bit by bit. By the time they stopped at the fourth station, there were enough new people on board that their presence was not a surprise.

Just in case, Merlin lowered his head, his forehead brushing Arthur's shoulder, and murmured another spell to make certain that anyone looking at them wouldn't recognize them. 

Arthur's free hand drifted to Merlin's hip and tugged him close until they stood chest-to-chest, rocking with the train.

"All right?" Merlin asked, squeezing Arthur's hand.

"I suppose."

Merlin smirked. "What do you feel like, then? Pizza, chips, a curry?"

Arthur raised a doubtful brow. "Are those my only options?'

"No, but that leads me to rule number three. No fancy shite. And don't give me that bollocks that it's all you like to eat. No one on the planet likes eating caviar three times a day. We both know you'd scarf down chips the whole week long if you could," Merlin said.

"I would never."

Merlin snorted.

The train stuttered to a stop. People disembarked; more came into the car. Arthur spared a quick glance around that probably memorized everyone's faces, their clothes, and their shoe sizes before looking at Merlin. "Anything I want?"

"If it falls within the rules," Merlin said.

Arthur's expression clouded in thought. There was no warning when he yanked Merlin out of the train at the next stop.

"Ouch! What are you -- lemme go, you're stretching my arm," Merlin protested. The force of Arthur's grasp relented only marginally, giving Merlin a chance to get his feet under him and avoid the people streaming for the train rather than to haphazardly crash into them. "Where are we going?"

"There's a place," Arthur said, leaving it at that.

"What place?"

"You'll see," Arthur said.

They ended up backtracking on their route, walking nearly all the way to the last station, veering westward through a convoluted route that led them to a hole-in-the-wall diner with a grimy front window and a door with squeaky hinges that could be heard into the next county. The inside wasn't much better -- there was a linoleum floor that had been made to look as if it were wood; someone had painted over wallpaper in a garish green shade just dark enough for atmosphere but too close to the colour of an infected wound to promote healthy appetites; the light was a bright, migraine-inducing fluorescent blue.

For all the horrid décor, the place was surprisingly full. There were close to twenty tables in the front room, more in the back, and nearly all of those that Merlin could see had been claimed by small groups of people to cobble together a mutated version of a broad table, or isolated by couples who wanted a bit of alone time.

"Grab a table," Arthur said, waving Merlin off while he headed for the counter where a small woman with short black hair mostly hidden under a red bandana was manning the register. "I'll order."

"But --" 

"I'll order," Arthur said firmly.

Merlin sighed inwardly. He figured that if Arthur knew this place well enough to be able to find it from one entire train station away and to head directly to the cash instead of waiting for one of the waiters or waitresses to take their requests, _this once_ , he could trust whatever he'd get out of the kitchen.

Maybe.

He found a spot tucked out of the way and against the wall with at least three visible and accessible exit routes, and claimed it just ahead of an elderly couple who looked as if they wanted to hit him on the head with their canes for having _dared_. He spent a few minutes absorbing the atmosphere of the back room -- it wasn't much better than the front room -- and turned to study the patrons.

Before the military, before the SAS, Merlin wouldn't have paid much mind to anyone in the room. He would have noticed that the restaurant was crowded, that it was loud, and _thank fuck_ he'd scored a decent table with a view, in case the date conversation turned awkward and they needed to look somewhere else because someone had just finished telling the story of when their overly emotional Aunt or skeezy Uncle felt them up at a funeral. He would've sat in his spot for several long minutes, fussing with his shirt and his hair and checking his breath, and he would not have noticed the teenager sitting alone in the middle of the room, head down and shoulders slumped, two plates on the table and one of them abandoned where his date or his friend had deserted him. He wouldn't have noticed the elderly couple who had finally found themselves another table tucked between the group of young, menacing-looking bikers or how they were all exchanging conversation as if they were old friends.

He wouldn't have noticed the faded _Wankers unwelcome_ sign on the wall, the framed black-and-white photograph of the building that looked to have been taken sometime during the bomb blitzes of World War II, or the array of collectible figurines liberally coated with dust on a shelf over the far wall, out of reach. He definitely wouldn't have noticed how harried or abrupt -- but somehow still polite -- the waitstaff were when they dashed out of the kitchen with steaming-hot plates in hand, or how these waiters weren't waiters at all, but chefs, dressed in white pants and white shirts and white aprons and one of those little hats, the clothing worn with the same sort of pride as a soldier wearing his dress uniform.

There was something about this place that was important to Arthur, even if Merlin couldn't put a finger on what it was. When Arthur found him a few minutes later, weaving through the tables and chairs cramped so close together that he could barely squeeze past, Merlin decided that he didn't care that this place was a bloody _dive_ or that most of the patrons were running the risk of catching some sort of food-borne disease. Merlin couldn't care, not when Arthur was looking his most relaxed that Merlin had seen him in weeks.

Considering that Arthur had been operating on a state of high alertness since they became involved with the Directory, that wasn't saying much. But the additional stress of having to handle a regular workload at Pendragon Consulting -- even if he were playing the part of a recalcitrant brat who fought regularly with his father, that workload was still substantial -- had faded to some degree.

Merlin idly wondered if Arthur had checked his phone when he went up to the counter to order, and frowned at Arthur as he sat down.

"I didn't," Arthur said, reading his mind.

"You didn't. Right."

"Honest," Arthur said, a fleeting smile touching his lips. He shook his head a moment later and sighed before putting both elbows on the table, rubbing his forehead and running his hand through his hair. "I've been a right pillock over this whole thing, haven't I?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Merlin said, nodding amiably.

Arthur dropped his hands. "You didn't have to agree so fast."

"Believe me, there's no arguing with you when you're in this state," Merlin said, trying not to smile. "If you insist you're being a pillock, then you're being a pillock. Frankly, I thought you were just more of a prat than usual, but, you know, reaching for the phone _in the middle of a blow job_? That tips you firmly in the bloody wanker category."

Arthur winced a little, though whether it was because he knew he'd crossed an unforgivable line, or if it was because Merlin was talking loudly enough for anyone to hear, even in this noisy back room, Merlin didn't know, nor did he care. "Right. I deserved that."

"That and more," Merlin said, smirking. "So, you'll make it up to the team, yeah?"

Arthur heaved a sigh. "What do they want? I'm assuming that they've already given you a laundry list of things I'm supposed to do or get for them? I'm telling you right now, everything that Gwaine wants? It's an automatic no."

"Actually, Gwaine's idea was so good, everyone agreed with him," Merlin said. "It's that, when this is all over, you buy everyone and their respective other an all-expense paid trip to a tropical destination of your choice, as long as you're not being stingy about it."

Arthur stared at Merlin for so long that Merlin wasn't sure that Arthur had heard, or if he'd had an aneurysm calculating the cost of sending everyone on the team -- times two, if each was bringing a date -- somewhere warm, beach-side and sunny. 

"If it's any consolation, Perce and Gwaine won't be bringing a date, so that saves you on two fares," Merlin said.

There was still no answer, not even when the waiter-slash-chef plunked down two bottles of beer and a basket of deep-fried _somethings_ in front of them.

Merlin waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm trying to figure out how I can get the Directory on the hook for the cost," Arthur said, keeping his voice low. "It's kind of all their fault, anyway."

"Too right it is," Merlin said with a snort. "So. You all right now? Or do I have to shag you senseless until you forget the bloody phone?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said, picking up his beer. He raised a brow. "Although I wouldn't mind a bit of senseless shagging."

Merlin grinned and glanced around, but he didn't see the loo anywhere. Ever since Bryn's club, Merlin had been hankering for another bathroom fuck. It had gone from not even being on his kink list to skyrocketing to number one.

"Later," Arthur said with a smirk and a wink that left Merlin's stomach in a flutter.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Of all the boyfriends that Arthur had ever had in his life, Merlin was by far the most brilliant. It was actually not even a contest. If they'd met in uni, Arthur would have decided that Merlin was a pushover and mark the relationship for a quick ending -- and it would have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life.

But the circumstances were as they were, and sometimes, he couldn't help wondering if the rite of binding that Merlin had (accidentally? on purpose? Arthur found he didn't care) cast between them had something to do with how Merlin seemed to know exactly when to fight Arthur, and when to yield.

Considering the number of times that one or the other had been stroppy over something useless and inconsequential, even before the bond -- even before the relationship -- no, this was a quirk of Merlin's personality -- unyielding as a steel bar even under the most tremendous pressure when he had to be, but as insanely flexible as the grass bending in the wind the rest of the time. 

If there was any sign that Merlin was a keeper, this was only one of many.

It was only until Merlin had bullied him onto the train that Arthur stopped thinking all the _terrifying_ things that were coursing through his mind. All the things that he couldn't help but to think about, in order to stay ahead of the NWO, in order to stay ahead of everyone. He was trying to move the chess pieces as far ahead as he could, to try to get to the endgame, to try to check and mate as many sides of the complicated board as possible, and the only solution that he could think of at this moment frightened him.

Submission. He'd have to bow his head to the NWO. He couldn't --

This quiet terror was something that he was keeping to himself, not sharing it with Merlin, not even with Leon, not with any of his team. He did the only thing he could -- he checked his phone in the hopes that something would change, that would cast the board in a new perspective, that would give him something new to think about, a different way to plan.

Despite his best attempts to keep his team prepared for something even he wasn't sure what they were preparing for, the team knew there was something wrong. They wouldn't come out and ask, of course; they would wait until Arthur was ready. He knew that:

a) Merlin had an unfortunate point. Arthur was pushing everyone too hard without explanation, and he didn't dare give them one. Not yet, not until he had more information, more opportunities --

b) Because Merlin was right, he would be insufferable as a result. Arthur could cope with that.

c) The team would try to get their own back as soon as they could, but hopefully Arthur would have acceptable answers before then.

d) Arthur might as well enjoy himself in the short time they had away from everything.

Point d) was particularly strong. Between the escape from their flat, walking through the magical barrier without raising any alarm bells, and realizing that no matter how hard he searched for a tail, they hadn't been followed _at all_ , it dawned on Arthur that he could finally, finally have a real date with Merlin, even if went against his instincts and was completely unplanned.

Never mind that Morgause hadn't called and they were at a standstill with the mission. The problems at Pendragon Consulting lingered at the back of his mind, but Merlin was right. Arthur was no computer expert, and he couldn't make the IT team work any faster by breathing down their necks. He wouldn't be useful _at all_ until the network and the servers were running at their usual capacity, at which point he would get his hands dirty and determine what had brought them down in the first place.

It hadn't been an air conditioning failure -- servers were notoriously nitpicky about their operating conditions. It hadn't been a power outage -- the USP would have detected a trip and triggered the generators. It hadn't been a hardware error -- all of the backups were functioning, all of the computerized systems were fine, there were no errors or glitches on the drives…

Firmly, Arthur forced himself not to think about it anymore, at least for the present. He'd already made several long lists of plausible causes and gone through each and every one of them before marking them off.

He knew he would have handled the situation at the company better if he wasn't already under pressure from both the Directory, (who hadn't been best pleased at reading his latest report, but Arthur hadn't deigned to respond to Bayard's angry email since Merlin went out of his way to delete the contents and replace it with gifs of puppies licking a clear window, images of fairies skipping through a field toward a rainbow, and a very not-safe-for-work video of two handsome men having sex) and from the NWO. If Bayard would simply get out of Arthur's hair and stop doubting his abilities -- and if only Morgause would bloody well _call_ already and prove that Arthur's instincts had been spot-on, then his mood would improve drastically.

It was somewhere on that train trip, feeling Merlin's warmth next to him, squeezing Merlin's hand absentmindedly, that Arthur remembered the most important part of all this. There was a gorgeous bloke that he fancied the pants off of (and frequently did) with him, and if anyone deserved all of Arthur's attention, it was Merlin.

He let Merlin have his way for now -- though, if he were being honest, he'd never say no to Merlin -- but when it came down to the rules and wherever he wanted… Arthur supposed he could be spontaneous for once in his life and had brought Merlin to one of his favourite places in the world.

They were tucked into their made-from-scratch burgers, still steaming-fresh-from-the-grill, and weren't halfway through demolishing the giant servings of chips and generous dollop of coleslaw when Merlin stopped to catch his breath and wash down the spicy jalapeño salsa with a generous swallow of his second beer before asking, "How'd you know about this place?"

"Leon," Arthur said, putting down his burger in exchange for his beer. "We were just out of school, about to start uni. Moved in together to a flat that was so bad, we had roaches the size of your mecha-dragon and drafts big enough to turn it into a butcher's freezer in the winter. We couldn't even cook in the flat. The kitchen was clean, but you know what they say about a calm sea after an oil tanker springs a leak -- the surface might look nice, but you're fucked if you flick a smoke in it.

"The first few times we tried, we had the fire department knocking on our door within five minutes, hoses on shoulders. Found out later that our building was on their shite list for the most fires per month in any given year. Fire chief comes by, gives us a list of places that still had flats renting -- reasonable rates and all that, because he figured if we couldn't afford any other place but that one, we wouldn't go for anything upscale -- and tells us if they have to come by again, they'd hose _us_ down, and never mind the fire." 

Arthur paused to eat a few chips slathered in brown sauce, and smiled at Merlin's soft chuckle, at the crinkle around Merlin's eyes, the one that appeared only when he was amused.

"We'd already paid first and last. Thank fuck we didn't sign a lease -- just went month to month, which I found out later wasn't easy to get, but I suppose the landlord knew his building was a pit and didn't want the hassle of us taking him to court to break the lease for not telling us it wasn't safe to live in. But we still ended up there for two months while we juggled uni and finding a new place and moving, and in the meantime we lived off the generosity of others --"

The waiter-slash-cook came by, picked up their empties, and traded them for fresh bottles of beer without even asking. 

"-- notably Lance and Gwen and Morgana and everyone else, and when they got tired of seeing our ugly mugs, well, we tried to find places to eat that were good and cheap, because, you know, student budget and all that." Arthur had been able to afford more than Leon, but he'd made a point of keeping to a budget to prove that he could, mainly because he was tired of hearing Morgana mock him for being a privileged prat. "We must've gone through every dive in London at the time -- most of them anyway, I suppose -- before we heard about this place. It's been around longer than we've been alive, for all that they're shit at interior decorating, and, hey, on a student budget, meals like these are a bloody _feast_."

"I feel so pampered. I'm getting the student special --"

Arthur tossed a chip at Merlin. "Don't break your own bloody rule. This is us, not our…"

He waved a hand in the air.

"… our?" Merlin asked, raising both brows.

"Our roles," Arthur hissed, keeping his voice low. There might be music playing in the background, there might be people talking at the top of their lungs, and there might be no conceivable way for anyone to possibly eavesdrop on them, but he wasn't going to forget that they were still undercover and on a mission. He wouldn't do anything to endanger it, and he knew Merlin wouldn't, either. "Stop acting like a pampered brat."

"Can't help it. My boyfriend spoils me," Merlin said with a grin.

"Well, you tell your boyfriend to stop it, he's ruining it for the rest of us," Arthur said, raising a meaningful brow. "Don't tell me you _like_ what we're doing."

Merlin's expression soured. "Fuck, no. I'm going bloody mad sitting in the house while you go off to your job. I feel like a 1950s housewife --"

"If you were one, you'd at least be greeting me when I get home from the job with a brandy in hand, naked as a jaybird and lubed up, ready to go," Arthur pointed out with a grin

Merlin paused, looking hurt. "I can't believe you forgot that night already."

"How could I forget?" Arthur had difficulty keeping himself from breaking into a smile, limiting himself to a smirk instead. Even _just_ the memories were enough to make him half-hard, and if he let himself imagine Merlin in nothing but his socks, greeting him at the door. Gwaine and Kay and the others had buggered off somewhere to give them some privacy, then Arthur ran the risk of getting arrested for indecent exposure. Or public sex. Or something along those lines. 

Merlin matched Arthur's smirk and raised him an inviting eyebrow. Arthur's smile stretched, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, shaking his head, struggling to maintain his demeanour.

When he managed to get back his already fragile control, he put on a stern look and wagged his fork at Merlin. "Imagine my disappointment when the next day, I came home and you're sprawled on the couch wearing ratty jeans and an oversized hoodie and watching _Eastenders_. I was hoping that at least the naked part would become a regular thing."

Merlin's smile was small and shy, his cheeks flushing. "Maybe when we have the flat to ourselves, yeah? Kind of awkward trying to be sexy when Bohrs might wander by any second. And, you know, Gwaine ogles."

Arthur scowled and put down his beer. He pushed away his plate, his appetite gone. "Of course he does."

"Come on. Don't be mad," Merlin teased. "It's not like he didn't, you know, do everything he could for a look, never mind a grope, back on base."

"That's it. I'm going to kill him," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. 

Merlin pursed his lips in confusion, his expression immediately lightening into a bright smile and a wide grin. "Are you telling me that this jealous act of yours --"

"No, damn it, Merlin. It's not an act. It's never going to be an act," Arthur said, a little too quickly, a little too hotly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sighing. "Is that a problem?"

"I don't know," Merlin said, picking up his burger, lowering it a second later, his eyes narrow. "Wait. Back at the base pub, the first time you met Will? Did you think, him and I --"

Arthur grimaced. He felt a muscle pop in his jaw.

"You did!" Merlin exclaimed. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed. A second later, his expression twisted in disgust. "Also, ew. Me and Will? Even if he could get his head out from between a girl's legs long enough to notice me in the room, I'm not his type."

Arthur felt his scowl deepen into something that might turn out to be more permanent. "What's his type?"

Merlin took a bite from his burger, put it down on his plate, and chewed for what looked to be a deliberately long time before he answered. "Tits. Anything with tits. I refuse to get a boob job."

Arthur snorted.

"And apparently my dick has to go," Merlin added. "He's upset about the fact that I'm pretty attached to it."

"So am I, actually," Arthur said. Mollified, and only because he'd realized that Merlin and Will were best mates and nothing else a long time ago, he picked up his burger and finished it off. "Is he your type, though?"

"Not even close."

"And what is, then?"

Merlin threw a chip at him, but it fell short, smearing brown sauce all over the cheap paper tablecloth. "Seriously? Are you all right? Because I don't know the First Aid protocol for insecurity attacks. Maybe I should call Lance, he'll know what to do, although, knowing him, he'll make it all better by telling you that you're bloody gorgeous, which apparently means more to you from someone who's as straight as a board than from someone who can't wait for you to come home every damn night. You think I'll do the brandy-and-peep-show _Hi, honey! You're home!_ for anyone?"

"Merlin --"

"No, really. Okay. New rule. No more self-doubt. You're the most gorgeous man on the planet. If I'm looking at someone else, it's because I'm thinking, _I'm the luckiest bloke ever_ , not because I'm checking out his arse. All right? It's a permanent rule. Because, really, this is getting a bit ridiculous."

Arthur stared down at his plate. He looked up when Merlin reached for his arm, his long, slender fingers curling around his wrist. 

"Hey. Are you all right?" His eyes were dark with concern, genuine and honest.

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just..." Arthur thought about his past relationships, trying to put his finger on why, exactly, he felt this way. "I'd never been jealous when I was with Gwaine."

Merlin cocked an eyebrow and nodded, but he didn't say anything.

"Not with anyone else, either, to be honest," Arthur said, reaching up to rub his forehead with his free hand. "It's just. With you, I don't know how not to be jealous. I've..."

If he was going to say it, if he was going to reveal why he was so _fucking terrified_ lately, Arthur decided, he was going to be looking at Merlin when he did. He dropped his hand and took a deep breath.

"I'm mad in love with you, Merlin. So much. I don't want to lose you. Ever. And I get scared, sometimes. That I might."

Everything about Merlin _gentled_ in that instant. All the softness in the universe filled his expression. His mouth slackened the way it did when he didn't know what to say, the tension in his shoulders faded, taking all the wrinkles of concern with it, and his bright blue eyes darkened with a desire far more profound than mere lust. Arthur knew that he wanted nothing more than for Merlin to look at him like this every day.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly. "There's..."

Arthur shook his head. "No, it's all right. I _know_ Merlin. I know. You don't have to tell me. I can _feel_ it, sometimes. Late at night when you're finished grousing at me for staying up late with paperwork and have finally given up. When you're curled up on your side with your bum against my knee and a pillow over your head because I won't turn off the light. You'll take a deep breath and you'll sigh, and I'll _feel_ it. How you feel about me. I know, and it takes my breath away and I wonder if you know how I feel about you."

Merlin's smile was small and lovely, and the light touch of his fingers stroking the inside of Arthur's wrist was even more so. "I know."

Arthur caught Merlin's hand and held it.

"Arthur," Merlin said after a long pause over cold chips and smeared brown sauce and bun crumbs. "Let's not wait, then."

Arthur's brows pinched. "Wait?"

"The year and a day. The way things are going… I don't want it to run out," Merlin said, his smile shy. He chewed the corner of his lip, glanced down where their hands were entwined. "Let's elope."

The team would kill them. _Morgana_ would kill them. Uther, for all his faults, would glower in sufficient disapproval that it might as well be a death knell. And never mind Merlin's mother. He hadn't even _met_ Merlin's mother. He didn't have a marriage license, the registry office was closed, and he couldn't even think of a single place where they could get married right now. 

"God. Yes," Arthur said, because all that didn't matter. He wanted it.

Then he remembered: what about his plans?

It must have shown on his face, because Merlin's smile broadened just a little bit, and he shoved his plate out of his way, squeezing Arthur's hand as he leaned forward, elbow on the table. "We'll still have the wedding you want. The rings you want. As many people as you want, with whatever ridiculous flower arrangement you want me to carry, the catered dinner, the open bar, the live band and the dancing and you whisking me away to Hawaii or Bali or Australia or wherever it is that you want to go bloody _surfing_ on our honeymoon --"

Arthur flushed. He hadn't realized that Merlin had been listening to him on those late nights when he couldn't bear to look at the company reports, or the database, or the finances, or even the prototype test results anymore, and instead surfed the Web to try and find the perfect place for a honeymoon. All those times, Merlin had been curled up in the blankets, quiet and unmoving, his expression relaxed and open and innocent the way it could only be when he was asleep.

Arthur hadn't realized that Merlin had been listening.

"But for this, we don't need a marriage license, or an officer of the court, or a billion best men and ushers and flower girls." Merlin took a deep breath and hesitated, pressing his lips together before he said, "It'll just be a blessing for the handfasting. To literally tie the knot --"

Arthur's fingers tightened around Merlin's hand, and Merlin stammered to a stop. "When?"

Merlin's smile tugged wider. "Whenever. When you want --"

"Now," Arthur said without hesitation. "Can we do it now?"

Merlin's expression softened even more, if that were at all possible, and he nodded. It was a tiny, excited nod, beautiful for all the restraint that Arthur saw in it.

"Then we do it now," Arthur said, and he couldn't help himself. He reached across the table and kissed Merlin.

 

* * *

 

Gaius was waiting at the park when they arrived -- three trains and far too many stops later, nearly missing their destination when Merlin searched Arthur's expression nervously and explained for what seemed to be the thousandth time that the handfasting was something on the order of _permanent_ , and needing big magic to be undone, and _"Arthur, are you sure this is what you want?"_

To which Arthur had stared at Merlin for a long, long moment, then bluntly said, _"Yes, but if you ask me one more time, I'll start to wonder if this is what_ you _want."_

Arthur didn't know how many times he needed to say it. Yes, he was sure. Yes, he wanted this. He had every intention of marrying Merlin _anyway_ , and a little pagan rite seemed like the most logical, hassle-free choice, even if it wasn't exactly legal, what with not having any actual paperwork or witnesses or registration. But to Merlin, and maybe to Arthur, too, it meant more than a piece of paper signed by an officer of the court who didn't know them.

It was a pagan rite, but because Merlin had magic, it would be a magical binding, too, strengthening what they already had, Merlin had explained. It would end up being a bit more than the year-and-a-day handfasting that he'd accidentally cast, and permanent in ways that Merlin wasn't entirely sure about, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to care. It didn't matter. It was perfect.

Not once on the way over did Arthur have any doubts. He'd held Merlin's hand during the entire trip, more to keep Merlin from changing his mind and running away than to hold himself in check.

He was sure of this.

But now, watching Merlin and Gaius having a hushed, somewhat animated conversation, Arthur felt nervous.

It wasn't the rite itself. He'd been to pagan handfastings before. They were the same as a normal wedding in a Church or in a courthouse. The words were different, and that was all.

It was the way Gaius cuffed Merlin on the back of his head and said, "… and I hope you realize the risk I am putting myself in. If your mother finds out…"

Merlin's mother. God. What would she think of Arthur? That he'd robbed her of her son? They hadn't even met. Arthur didn't even know what she was like, but he knew she baked fantastic sweets. He'd only spoken to her once or twice on the phone --

"There'll be a real wedding, I promise," Merlin said, glancing past Gaius to meet Arthur's eyes with a smile that did wonders to settle Arthur's nerves.

Gaius raised a brow and said, "Well, that's a relief, at least."

"I'm sorry about this, Gaius. If you're not comfortable --"

Gaius heaved a sigh and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "My boy, I am honoured to do this for you and for Merlin. Even if it means that Hunith will not speak to me for months, perhaps years. My kitchen may even have a chance to recover from her last few visits."

Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to make about that last part, but Merlin chuckled.

"Merlin has explained the rite to you?" Gaius asked. At Arthur's nod, he added, "And you know that there is no going back? I understand it is a spur of the moment decision, and those are hardly the most ideal for this sort of commitment --"

"Gaius," Merlin muttered.

Gaius raised his brow at Merlin, and Merlin sighed.

"Gaius," Arthur said, "This is a spur of the moment decision that I made the day that I met Merlin. I've had a long time to think about it. I'm not going to change my mind. This is what I want. It's what's right."

Gaius smiled faintly and nodded approvingly. He patted Arthur's cheek before taking a step aside. "Do you have rings or gifts to mark the binding?"

Arthur shot Merlin a dark look. "You didn't say anything about rings --"

"Saving them for the actual wedding," Merlin said. He looked a little sheepish. "I just thought… Since I bound our tattoos, maybe we could use those?"

"You truly do mean to make this permanent, don't you, Merlin?" Gaius asked, and when Merlin looked at Arthur and smiled, Gaius shook his head and made a small, amused sound. "In that case, shirts off."

"But it's cold," Merlin complained.

"Shirts off," Gaius said again, walking toward a makeshift stone altar.

They removed their shirts, and Merlin was right, the night air was colder than expected. Gooseflesh covered Arthur's skin, and Merlin shivered. Arthur pulled Merlin close and ran his hands down Merlin's back to warm him.

"I may be a little slow," Arthur said softly, watching as Gaius laid out several items on the flat stone, "But it occurs to me that maybe I'm not the only one who's been planning things."

"I have no idea what you're --" Arthur squeezed Merlin tightly. "-- okay, maybe a little bit. I just thought about doing this after your monstrous idea of a wedding. I didn't have anything concrete in mind. Not really."

"My wedding plans aren't monstrous," Arthur said, preferring to focus on that instead of on how Merlin had never brought it up before.

"You have it choreographed like a battle advance," Merlin complained.

"I'd like to see you plan out how to move several hundred people around --"

"Several hundred!"

"-- and make certain we don't lose a man."

"You're having an open bar. We're sure to lose Gwaine," Merlin said.

"That's part of the plan. That way, he can't open his big gob and go on a rant why we can't get married when the pastor asks that part." Arthur had woken up once from a nightmare where Gwaine's answer had been _I haven't shagged Merlin yet_ , promptly dragging Merlin to the side room, and returning a bewildered Merlin in some state of undress. It wasn't something that he wanted to see a reality.

"There's that, yeah," Merlin said.

Gaius cleared his throat. He was standing in front of the stone altar and had donned some sort of braided wreath with flourishing greens, wearing it around his brow like a crown.

Merlin gave Arthur a small smile that warmed him despite the cold. Arthur reached for Merlin's hand even as Merlin reached for his, and they twined their fingers tightly, shifting to face Gaius.

"May the Gods consecrate this place for this moment in time and stand witness to this rite in which two would be wedded. Merlin and Arthur, step forward and stand before the Gods and the Spirits of the Old Religion."

The clouds seemed to part; there was a twinkle of starlight and the faintest sliver of the new moon bathing them in mirrored light. They stopped in front of Gaius, who was serious and severe for a long moment before he raised his hands and spread them; he held a white ribbon loosely, the long strands dangling down on either side.

Arthur glanced at Merlin as Merlin raised their twined hands.

"May the beings of Air kiss the flesh and make it ever fair and firmly bind the tie between loving hearts and loving minds."

The wind picked up, but it was warm, moving so lightly that it barely made the tree branches and shrubs shiver and clack. Instead of chilling bare skin, Arthur felt as if he had been blanketed in a warm coat. Even Merlin stopped shivering.

Gaius wrapped the ribbon around their hands in a braid-like pattern, leaving the ends undone. He took a step back and closed his eyes.

The ribbon tightened around their hands as if of its own volition, and, alarmed, Arthur glanced down to see that the ends had been tightly knotted. Merlin shook his head, wide-eyed, as if to say, _it wasn't me._

Gaius took two white candles from the altar and presented it to them. Merlin took one in his free hand; Arthur followed his example.

"May the beings of Fire stir the soul and kindle the embers and ever rouse passion and compassion in all the times of darkness and in all the times of light."

Arthur felt what was an embarrassing flush of heat under his skin, stirring an arousal unlike any that he had ever felt, low and burning, ever hungry, but with it came a curious calm and an ease that didn't desire to be eased. Beside him, Merlin swallowed hard, and Arthur knew he wasn't the only one.

 _What is this --_ he wanted to ask, but Merlin had described the rite, and he knew not to speak now.

It could wait.

The heat travelled all over his body, down his legs, down his arms; the candles both cast alit as if from a minuscule spark, growing and growing until there was no possible way that the wick could support the weight of the flame.

Gaius spread his hands and looked heavenward.

"May the beings of Water soothe the body of aches and offer clarity through pain and cleanse the spirit with the wisdom found in the richness of love."

Arthur wasn't sure what needed to happen now, but Merlin tilted his chin up, and Arthur did the same. He saw the clear night, the distant stars, the eerie glow of the moonlit sliver diffusing into the night.

Then a raindrop fell on his face. Then another. And another. Small, faint raindrops at first, then fat, heavy dribbles.

It fell again, more and more, so much so that Arthur closed his eyes but felt no urge to seek shelter; there was a relaxing coolness in the kiss of the rain against his skin. He was pelted until he was soaked, and the rain trickled to a stop. He looked at Merlin and saw his own smile reflected at him, big and amazed and awed.

And somehow, the candles still burned bright, and Gaius was dry.

"May the beings of Earth ease your journey and turn two roads into one and steady the unsteady with eternal strength and unshakable foundation."

Gaius reached down to the ground and smeared dirt on their brows in a circle swirl. He took a step back, watchful in solemn pause.

There was a strange feeling creeping up Arthur's legs, a weight holding him firmly to the ground, as if he'd grown roots and wasn't meant to move. Somehow, all the weight he'd been carrying, all the strain and the worries he'd kept to himself, lifted up, suddenly light, supported by something greater than himself.

"May the Gods of the Old Religion bless those they would guard through hardship and that they would keep in unending joy."

There was a whisper in the silence, almost unintelligible, but Arthur heard the words as clear as if they were spoken out loud, someone's soft breath against his ear.

" _Blessed be._ "

In the silence that followed, the force keeping the ribbon taut eased and the knot unravelled, the ends loose over their wrists. The flames on the candles became smaller and smaller until they winked out. The moisture on their faces, in their hair, on their shoulders dried as if it had never rained. The weight keeping them where they stood relaxed and set them free.

Gaius took the candles and placed them on the altar. He unravelled the ribbon and put it aside, and gestured that they move to face each other. "Place your hands over the other's mark."

Merlin's hand was warm against his side, and the contact of his hand with Merlin's tattoo tingled with the pins and needles of a sleeping limb being awakened. Arthur's heart pounded wildly, because Merlin's eyes were bright and glistening with tears, and there was such happiness in his gaze. It took Arthur's breath away.

Gaius spoke in Welsh, slowly and softly; whatever he said, it made Merlin's cheeks redden even in the night. He paused, and repeated in English, "Love is unforgiving and fair. Love is fleeting and eternal. Love is a constant that cannot be possessed and cannot possess in turn.

"Have patience, one with the other, through whatever comes. Stand fast and strong and slow and pliant. Be giving in your affections, be free to love one another, be sensuous and warm. Be fearless when together, be brave when apart. As the Gods and the Spirits of the Old Religion watch over you, may your love be steadfast and eternal."

It felt as if the universe held its breath in that moment.

"Is it your wish, Merlin, to become one with this man?"

"It is," Merlin said, his voice firm, a faint warble in his voice.

"Is it your wish, Arthur, to become one with this man?"

The swell in his chest made it difficult to get the words out. "It is."

Gaius smiled faintly. "As none are here who would say nay, even if any should dare try to come between you, as the Gods and the Spirits of the Old Religion are witness to this rite, I now proclaim you wed."

Arthur wasn't sure who moved first. It might have been the both of them at once. Their lips slipped together in a perfect kiss, soft and gentle and chaste.

It was warmth that shrouded them in that instant. It was the tickle of sunlight on a summer day. It was the whisper of snowfall with wispy clouds in the sky.

There were no words that Arthur knew to describe the magic that settled on him, on Merlin, around them, but it was magic all the same, binding them.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

"Are you certain?" Gaius asked, looking out of the window of his car.

"We're sure. I know you're being careful, but we know that the Directory's watching you," Merlin said. It had been a stark revelation that had left Merlin fuming for days until Gaius reminded Merlin that the Directory had likely been watching Gaius since his army days and were simply paying more attention now. His foul temper had lasted for a week more when he realized that if the Directory had Gaius under observation, they probably had one on his Mum, too.

It had taken not just Arthur, but the entire team, to keep him from calling Directory headquarters and giving Bayard a piece of his mind and giving away his secret in the process.

"Let them wonder where I've been," Gaius said, a twinkle in his eye. "That is, if they even realize that I was gone. Merlin, my boy, those louts do not frighten me half as much as your mother does, and if she finds out --"

"She won't find out from us," Arthur said. "I think it's bad enough that Merlin hasn't told her yet that we were handfasted, and worse that I haven't even met her."

"Yeah, we'll fix that," Merlin said, wincing. He'd at least told his Mum that they were dating, and she already knew all about Arthur, but the rest of it had... slipped his mind.

"I doubt she would spare any of us," Gaius said, raising both brows with misgiving. He pointed a finger at the two of them. "Take care of each other."

"We will," Arthur said, running his hand down Merlin's back, the touch gentle and possessive at the same time.

"Thank you again, Uncle Gaius," Merlin said, waving as Gaius backed out of the park's lot, turned around, and headed down the motorway. He shifted his weight and leaned against Arthur, greedy for his body heat. They might have been perfectly warm during the rite, but the hour was late, now, and they were both cold.

"I've changed my mind," Arthur said suddenly. 

Merlin twisted around to look at him, eyes wide with horror. "What! But you said -- And it's a little late now -- God, _Arthur_ \--"

"About the actual wedding ceremony," Arthur said, scowling at Merlin with an expression that couldn't mean anything else but _do give me a chance to finish talking_. "I was thinking that instead of the traditional court-mandated claptrap everyone has to do, we'll do whatever minimum is needed to satisfy the legal aspect... And ask Gaius to do a renewal?"

Merlin's shoulders sagged, and he jabbed a finger in Arthur's chest. "Don't do that. Fucking gave me a heart attack --"

Arthur smirked. He took Merlin's hand, pulled him close, and Merlin willingly went into the circle of his arms, his own wrapping around Arthur's waist.

"-- but I like that idea. Might even get Gaius off the hook if Mum finds out she missed this --"

Merlin didn't have a chance to finish what he was saying, because Arthur silenced him with a soft kiss. And another. And yet another.

They were chaste kisses, each one only marginally deeper than the last, full of gentle tugging on each other's lips, trying to tease out more and resisting the best they could to make the moment last, and knowing that more would come.

Arthur broke the kiss and nuzzled Merlin's cheek, his lips pressing kisses along the scruff of Merlin's jaw, trailing down Merlin's throat and back up again. "I seem to remember something else that needs to happen after a wedding."

The deep, husky tone of Arthur's voice turned Merlin's legs into something approaching the consistency of jelly, and Merlin's fingers twisted into the fabric of Arthur's shirt for something to hang on to. "Oh, God. Yes. We should go home, then. Fast. I'll call a cab --"

Arthur wasn't moving. He wasn't letting Merlin go. Instead, he whispered, "Do you think the Gods of the Old Religion would mind overmuch if we consummated our marriage in the grove?"

Merlin stilled, a thrill flushing through him. He'd gone from zero to hard in record time at Arthur's question, and he thought it was a _brilliant_ idea. He had to swallow several times before he was sure his voice wouldn't crack. "I don't think they'd mind. At all. In fact. I think. They might be pleased."

Arthur loosed his hold around Merlin. He took a step back, and another, pulling Merlin along, compounding each footstep with kiss after kiss that became progressively filthier and erased his awareness of everything around them.

He didn't feel it the moment they crossed the gravel parking lot and walked on lush grass. He didn't hear it when they entered the hush of the forest muffling the distant city sounds and passing traffic. He didn't suffer the chill of the damp night, warmed as he was by Arthur's caresses, by the light of the sliver of the moon shining down.

Merlin didn't know how Arthur had brought them back to this place, manoeuvring through the groomed trails and the hidden paths despite the blinding kisses, but it didn't matter, because it was _perfect_ , a secret place still imbued by the lingering magic of Gods and Spirits, still buoyed by the remnants of Merlin's own magic drawn out by the ritual to bind them together.

It was no longer for a year and a day. It was for the rest of their lives.

The thought made Merlin giddy with happiness and joy that only fuelled the strength of his desire.

Arthur's strong hands drifted under Merlin's shirt, fingers tracing lines, palms smearing heat. He lifted up the material, pulling it over Merlin's head, and the small whimper that emerged from the broken kiss was entirely Merlin's.

It was easier to remove Arthur's shirt; there was no reason to part then, except to struggle with those buttons that were unyielding against trembling fingers. Arthur broke restraint to tear his shirt open and ripping out the last few buttons, his wrists caught in the arms until Merlin pulled him free.

They stayed like that for a while, standing where they had been handfasted, kissing, licking, nibbling, _touching_ with gentle fingers and softer hands that brushed over every millimetre of exposed skin. It was Merlin who broke first, reaching for the waistband of Arthur's trousers, following it from the small of Arthur's back to the front. He stroked Arthur through the fabric, was rewarded with a stuttering groan and a tight squeeze of his arse that brought him that fraction closer to grind them both together.

Arthur took a slight step to the side, guided Merlin to straddle his leg, and they rubbed each other like that for interminable minutes because somehow, it was easier to rut against a thigh than against another cock, hard and full and flush.

It was too much. And it wasn't enough.

Merlin undid Arthur's trousers, pulled them down, was gentler with his boxer-briefs, reaching to free Arthur's erection. Arthur thrust into his hand, and Merlin bowed his head to Arthur's shoulder, biting the flesh to muffle a groan, stroking Arthur's cock even as his hips twitched into his hold.

Where Arthur's self-restraint came from, Merlin didn't know, but Arthur pushed Merlin's hand away and made short work of Merlin's jeans. There was a brief tangle, desperate and urgent, yanking and pulling until they were free of shoes and socks and trousers and pants, with nothing but air between their flesh until they were skin to skin in an embrace.

Arthur's hand wound about them both, gently, loosely stroking; the shock of contact of their cocks together sent lightning chills down Merlin's spine. He crushed them together, wanting a moment to catch his breath. Arthur's hand stilled and moved to Merlin's hips, and that was _not better at all_ , because his thumb was drawing circles on the bone while his fingers pressed into his flesh.

Merlin took a forced step back, his body shuddering and shivering, not from the cold, but from the shudder of desire. Arthur was as wrecked as he was, his hair in disarray, his lips swollen and bruised, his cheeks flushed, his erection proud.

_Gods. You're beautiful._

He didn't have the breath to say the words. He didn't trust himself to be able to say the words. Instead, Merlin went to his knees on the soft grass between Arthur's legs, fully intending to worship the sight before him. He didn't touch; he didn't reach forward as he badly wanted to. Instead, he tilted his chin and met Arthur's eyes.

The sound Arthur made was a combination of a pleading mewl and a hungry groan. He held himself back as long as he could, letting Merlin drink in the sight of him, before reaching to brush his fingers through Merlin's hair, to cup behind his head, to lure him in.

Merlin closed his eyes at Arthur's cock against his cheek, at the pre-come that smeared across his jaw, at the scent, sharp and strong and musky, that could only be Arthur's. He revelled in it, became drunk with it, hungered for it.

He suckled at Arthur's groin, ignoring his cock for now. He ran his hands up Arthur's solid thighs, drew his tongue in circles on either side of his cock before darting in for a taste of his balls. He took Arthur in hand, guided him to his mouth, let the pre-come coat his lips --

Arthur groaned, his eyes dark, his body tense with the strain of keeping himself from thrusting past Merlin's lips.

\-- and suckled the head and only the head until Arthur's soft moans became too much for even him. He took Arthur into his mouth, bit by precious bit, until he was buried in the soft hair of Arthur's groin, Arthur's cock touching the back of his throat.

He pulled off only to gasp, to run his lips down Arthur's cock, to swallow him again, his head bobbing slowly, shallowly, his hand reaching between his own thighs to squeeze the base of his cock before he came just from the sheer pleasure of doing this, of making Arthur come undone. He sucked faster, he twirled his tongue, he pulled off until his lips were around the head again, and took Arthur's full length in again.

It was Arthur who pulled away, his body trembling, his breath shaky, his chest heaving as if he'd run a long sprint against the world's best and emerged the winner. There was a pause; Merlin stared as Arthur took himself in hand, stroked only once, and held the base tightly. Arthur shook his head as if to say _God, what you do to me_ , and groaned helplessly when Merlin licked his lips and tasted the pre-come slicked there.

Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet. Merlin was guided toward the rock that had played altar during the rite. Arthur moved to stand behind Merlin, kissing his neck, pressing himself against Merlin's arse. Merlin twisted his head around and Arthur caught his jaw, and they kissed like that, hot and wet and filthy, while Arthur's hand wrapped around Merlin's cock and stripped it lightly, faintly, teasingly. He drew the same sounds from Merlin that Merlin had pulled from him only moments ago before granting Merlin a brief spate of mercy. Arthur moved to press kisses down his spine that pushed Merlin down to reach for the altar. He descended ever slowly, laving kisses and licks until he reached the small of Merlin's back. He ran his hands down Merlin's legs, putting light pressure on the inside of his thighs until they were parted, and Merlin shivered at the exposure, feeling Arthur's breath against his hole.

Then his tongue.

Arthur's hands gripped his arse, keeping him open; there were kisses pressed in teasing circles that were followed by even more teasing by his tongue. There was a little tickle, an exploratory lick, a press of the very tip pushing against the muscle, and Merlin nearly bit through his finger to keep from crying out in pleasure.

He didn't bother muffling his cry the second time, nor the third. He certainly wasn't silent when Arthur breached him first with his tongue, with a finger. With two. 

Merlin pushed back against Arthur, wanting more, and Arthur wasn't shy in supplying. It wasn't long before there were wet, squelching sounds -- not quite the same as when Arthur overdid it with lube, but wet all the same -- filling the grove, competing with Merlin's moans. He reached for his cock and managed only a few pulls before Arthur batted his hand away.

" _Arthur,_ " Merlin pleaded, and a third finger replaced the tongue, stretching him wide for one, two, three too-brief thrusts that twisted and teased and touched his prostate, making him jerk forward, grabbing the stone for support.

There was a shift of movement behind him, the press of a hand on the small of his spine, pushing him down gently until his chest brushed against the flat of the rock, his arse up in the air.

For a moment, Merlin was empty, bereft of fullness. The keening sound escaping his throat was replaced by a groan when Arthur guided his cock to Merlin's entrance and leaned in, breaching past the ring with a restrained push that paused, giving Merlin a chance to adjust to Arthur's girth, as if they hadn't been fucking like rabbits on _Viagra_ every chance they had. Merlin pushed back against Arthur, grumbling, urging him on, but Arthur's hands were firm on his hips, holding him steady as he slowly thrust in.

" _Gods_ , Arthur --"

Arthur withdrew just as slowly and pushed in again. Merlin grasped the rock, holding on for balance, because if Arthur didn't start fucking in earnest soon, he was going to come embarrassingly quick.

It had to be the magic still lingering in the grove, the blessing of Gods and Spirits both, even the buzz of his own magic under his skin, racing to the surface every time Arthur touched him. Every time Arthur _nearly_ touched him. Every time Arthur was close. Even when he wasn't. It was as if every ounce of his being couldn't stand it for one instant being without Arthur.

And he couldn't. 

"Fuck, Arthur. _Fuck._ If you don't --" Whatever Merlin had been about to threaten died on his lips when Arthur pulled out abruptly, as his hands slipped from his hips, as he was left with nothing but a chilling cold where his magic had surged to the fore. "Arthur?"

He turned around. Arthur was _wrecked_ \-- his hair in disarray, his body covered in a sheen of sweat that glistened in the moonlight, making him look almost unearthly, his cock in hand, slick with pre-come. His eyes were full of want, his mouth in a smile so _happy_ that it left Merlin gasping, and, with his free hand, he invited Merlin to come toward him.

"Want to see you fucking me," Arthur said, his voice rough. Merlin caught on to what Arthur had in mind when he sat on the grass.

Merlin held onto the rock a little longer, not quite trusting his legs to take him that far. He took a few steps, crawled the rest of the way, licking his way up Arthur's legs, his chest, his throat, his mouth until he straddled Arthur's hips.

One day, Merlin would admit that he was addicted to the taste of Arthur's mouth, his skin. One day, he would tell Arthur how much he liked to run his tongue all over Arthur's body, worshipping it.

"What are you waiting for," Arthur hissed with an impatient groan. " _Merlin_ \--"

Merlin licked a stripe up Arthur's throat and muffled Arthur's whining, driving his tongue into Arthur's mouth until he drew soft keening sounds and felt Arthur writhe under him. Merlin sat back, letting Arthur guide his cock in, and slid down --

The burn was different this time, eased by Arthur's earlier loosening with mouth, fingers, and cock, slicked now with pre-come and more pre-come as Merlin sank onto Arthur, taking none of the slowness or the tenderness that Arthur had shown him but minutes before. He paused to gasp a groan into a kiss and rose on his knees --

And sank back down.

That was enough for Arthur, because he grasped Merlin's hips and hitched his own, fucking up into Merlin. Merlin's lips brushed Arthur's, the two of them breathing too hot and fast to kiss, the thrusts coming hard and deep, hitting all of the right spots.

Merlin groaned, his body tensing, his cock pulsing, his hole squeezing around Arthur, and there was one, two, three more pumps before Arthur stilled, letting out a long, long groan as he came inside Merlin.

By the time Merlin came down to himself, he could barely move. Arthur helped him with trembling arms, and they both winced when Arthur's cock pulled out of Merlin's hole. Merlin stretched out next to Arthur, who rolled onto his side, running his hand on Merlin's skin so gently, that Merlin shivered.

They nuzzled each other with slow, lazy kisses, laying there in a quiet doze, the night air slowly chilling them as the clouds crossed past the sliver of moonlight.

"We should get back," Arthur whispered.

"Probably," Merlin whispered back.

"I'm getting cold," Arthur said with a chuckle.

"Me too," Merlin grinned, unwilling to leave. With a sigh, he pushed himself onto his elbows, nudging Arthur onto his back, and kissed him again. "I love you, Arthur Pendragon."

"I love you, Merlin Emrys," Arthur said, and Merlin bit his lower lip, his heart swelling.

Neither one of them moved. They stayed in the grove under the open sky for a little longer, until neither of them could feel the lingering magic any longer.

It was well into the early hours of the morning by the time they dressed and found their way back to more civilized areas where they could flag a cab. They had the driver drop them off within a few blocks of the flat, walked the rest of the way there under cover of Merlin's magic that rendered them both invisible, silent and undetectable even to the magical barrier, holding hands and arguing the entire way.

"You'll be taking my name when we --"

"I can't believe you're on this again. I thought we settled that on the train," Merlin said with a groan. "Emrys-Pendragon sounds so _pretentious_."

"It's a good kind of pretentious, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said. "I'll even consider taking your name --"

"Hush," Merlin said, reaching for the door. He'd already cast an illusion to keep anyone from seeing it open and shut, and ushered Arthur inside. He locked up and set the alarm before dissipating the spells around them. "We'll talk about it later. Much later. Like, never."

"It'll be easier if --"

Merlin pinned Arthur against the door and silenced him with a kiss. "We're not talking about this, remember?"

"We are," Arthur said with a grin, hooking his fingers through the loops in Merlin's jeans and marching Merlin backwards up the stairs. Merlin was preoccupied with not falling on his arse while being distracted by Arthur's kisses and questing hands, and didn't immediately notice that they'd stopped moving, or that Arthur was grumbling.

"What?"

Merlin turned around. They were surrounded by four harried men. "Oh, hi. Did we wake you?"

"Is something wrong with your fingers? You couldn't call to let us know you were all right?"

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

"So, what, exactly did you do to put him in such a good mood?" Gwaine asked.

"Don't tell him," Perceval said.

"Wasn't going to," Merlin said, and there was a scuffle of sound, like socks skidding across the floor.

Arthur rounded the corner while adjusting his loose tie, and raised a brow at the scene he saw in the kitchen. Gwaine had Merlin in a headlock, Perceval was holding his head in the gesture of a man who was long-suffering, and Kay was throwing his arms up in the air, walking away and not wanting anything to do with it. Everyone froze when they saw Arthur.

Everyone, that was, except for Merlin, who was squirming to get free.

Gwaine straightened, keeping Merlin in his armpit, and smiled one of his enigmatic smiles, throwing in a head-toss to brush his hair out of his face for good measure. "Did Morgause call? You can tell us, you know."

"I just said -- ow, fuck _off_ , Gwaine," Merlin said, finally wrenching himself loose of Gwaine's hold. He rubbed one ear and gave Gwaine a dark, sidelong glare. "I said she didn't, all right? For fuck's sake. How hard is it for someone to understand that _none of your business_ means _none of your business_?"

"I have no problem with that," Kay said.

"And I really don't want to know what you two were up to the other night, as long as it was legal," Bohrs said from the sofa in the living room.

"I can think of a few things that aren't legal that our boys have been up to --" Gwaine said, wagging his eyebrows.

Bohrs raised a hand in the air and loudly announced, "I don't want to hear it!"

"Actually, the not-so-legal? That was us," Perceval said.

"I don't want to hear it either," Kay said, shoving his way past Gwaine to get into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator wide, stuck his head inside, and complained, "Someone's got to do the shopping."

When no one answered him, Kay shut the door and looked around meaningfully.

"Not it," Perceval said.

"Don't look at me," Merlin said.

"I'm on Watch-Arthur's-Arse duty today," Bohrs said, waving the remote in the air.

"Well, Gwaine's not doing it -- the last time, he came home with enough bread for a homeless shelter but forgot the cold cuts," Kay pointed out. He ripped a sheet off the grocery list stuck to the refrigerator, rummaged around loudly until he found a pen, and grumbled under his breath while he made a few notes, but no one was buying it. Secretly, Kay was a house _husband_ at heart.

"If Morgause didn't call, and you weren't up to anything illegal, _for the love of --_ " Gwaine cut himself off and walked around the kitchen island, stopping in front of Arthur. "Something's happened. I know it did. Things just feel different. I want to know what's up."

Arthur glanced over Gwaine's shoulder and made eye contact with Merlin. They shared a small smile before Arthur's shoulders relaxed and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Of course something's different," Merlin said, turning on the blender for a few seconds. The kitchen filled with a noisy whir before he continued. "I thought _I_ was loud, but you two drowned us out this morning. Structural damage, I keep telling you. The house shifted at least a couple of centimetres."

"You're just jealous. Admit it. You want to be on the receiving end of the most amazing orgasm the Gwaine can provide," Gwaine said, turning around to look at Merlin, striking a pose. For good measure, he trailed a hand over his body, just in case Merlin missed it the first time.

Arthur restrained the urge to hit Gwaine up the back of his head. Or worse.

Merlin rolled his eyes. Perceval's cheeks flushed red and he looked away, but he had a small, amused smile on his lips. Kay was shaking his head, but he kept his attention firmly fixed to the sheet in his hand, adding more and more items to his list.

In the living room, Bohrs turned up the volume on the telly.

"A few centimetres is _nothing_ ," Merlin retorted, pouring the contents of the blender into a large glass, holding out a protein shake for Arthur. "Try having one so hard, it moves the entire _planet_."

"The planet?"

"The planet. Don't you watch the news? We're out of orbit and that much closer to the sun. Global warming didn't start until Arthur and I --"

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, raising an eyebrow at Merlin, and sipped the protein shake.

"-- did the thing. Yeah," Merlin said mutely, turning away. His ears were red.

Arthur knew what Merlin was trying to do. He didn't try to goad Gwaine into matching sexual exploits in some sort of teenage conquest contest -- in fact, Merlin avoided it if at all possible. But he was willing to take the conversation down the risqué route if it would distract Gwaine from any further interrogation.

If this was the sort of thing that the British Army taught their soldiers during anti-interrogation, Arthur didn't have much hope for their future.

As much as he wanted to hear what Merlin had been about to say, and to watch Gwaine try to come up with a suitable rejoinder, Arthur cut off the conversation with a raised brow and a pointed, "If Merlin says it's none of your business, Gwaine, it's none of your business."

"But --"

"Our main concern today needs to be finding out what happened at the company. I received a report from the IT personnel --" The incoming email had chimed an alert on his laptop sometime before the sun rose, but Arthur hadn't had the opportunity to read it until he recovered from Merlin's latest attempt to suck his brain out of his cock.

It had been a near thing. Although, Arthur mused, if getting married put Merlin in this kind of mood, it was definitely a good thing that they would get _officially_ married at some point. He suppressed his grin and continued.

"-- and although the vast majority of our critical files has been restored, it appears that several databases have been tampered with, including the inventory list for several of our satellite laboratories and research facilities. They may also have the warehouse data as well, but they're double-checking. The division also noticed that our secure confidential server had been accessed and copied to a remote location."

"Well, shite," Kay said, finally looking up.

"That's putting it mildly," Perceval said, frowning. He crossed his arms over his chest.

" _Too_ mildly," Gwaine said, taking a step into Arthur's space, raising an eyebrow in examination. "What did Merlin do to you?"

"You only wish you knew," Arthur said with a smirk that made Gwaine throw his arms up in frustration -- really, the man was too nosy for his own good. Arthur finished off his protein shake and went into the kitchen to rinse out his glass, brushing against Merlin deliberately. Merlin nudged him back. "Bohrs is with me today, but so are you, Perce. Kay, your grocery shopping will have to wait. I want you and Gwaine to bring Merlin to Gwen's lab. I want him to find out exactly which files were taken. The IT squints say that it was the entire restricted drive, but even I know that's impossible. You'd need to be on-site for that, and security hasn't found any holes."

There were no "do you really trust those rent-a-coppers" remarks, mainly because everyone knew that Pendragon Consulting didn't hire anyone who didn't at least have a few years of active duty under their belt. Even the majority of the administrative body had seen a firefight or two. If the security team and the IT personnel valued their jobs, they would double and triple-check everything, turn over every bloody pebble twice, and snap a smart salute at Colonel Pendragon while giving their reports.

Gwaine twitched, but he crossed his arms in what Arthur recognized as the unhappy capitulation of a dog dropping a bone. "You think it's about Cenred's wacky bomb?"

"I'm certain it's about _Pendragon's_ wacky bomb. The timing's too pat. We find out about it, we get recruited into NWO, we don't hear shite from them -- trust me, they're gathering intel before they drop our assignment in our laps and expect us to hop to," Arthur said. He couldn't help himself, he glanced at Merlin in apology.

Merlin shrugged.

When Arthur looked back at the others, he caught Perceval studying them in a speculative look, Finally, Perceval asked, "What else? You wouldn't have two of us on both of you at once if you didn't think something else was happening."

"I'd say _precautions_ , but you'd look at me like I'd grown a second head," Arthur said. He _always_ had precautions. He always ran risk analysis. He always weighed measures and contingencies. No single member of his team would accept that as an explanation when he operated on a precautionary level anyway. 

"Too right," Bohrs said, coming out of the living room, ham-fisting the remote as if he fully expected someone to snatch it out of his hand at any second.

"Our IT department is equipped, but it's not well-equipped, and never mind the manpower or the crypto skills. There's a few things they can't do. The Colonel has asked Lightforce Incorporated to send their best personnel in ASAP to do a full security sweep of our systems, from the mailroom on up, security and IT." Arthur's reaction when he'd received the email that morning had been something short of going nuclear. Merlin's magic had caught the laptop before it had gone out the window.

"Oh, bollocks," Gwaine said. "Is he taking the piss?"

"Believe me, I wish he were," Arthur said flatly, gritting his teeth. "We're going to be dealing with a minimum of ten new people per site in London _alone_ , at each of the satellite offices, all of them with a cursory security check provided by Lightforce, and we won't have time to do our own in-depth."

"Brilliant," Kay muttered.

"It'll be a clusterfuck," Bohrs said.

"A little bit messier than that," Perceval said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next, crossing his arms over his chest. Arthur could see that Perceval was thinking of the implications, and not liking them one bit.

"Perce is right. Pendragon's personnel will be keeping watch on these people. Our IT people will be making sure they don't fuck around with our systems. Then, while everyone's watching the people watching them, something's bound to snap. I'm not risking anyone. You go in armed, yes, even you, Merlin --" Arthur said, shifting to give Merlin a meaningful glare. They'd argued about Merlin carrying a gun before, but they really had it out in the relative privacy of their shower less than a half-hour ago. Merlin's argument had been that having a gun ran the risk of messing up their cover. Arthur's argument had been that even under cover, by now, Arthur would have gotten fed up with Merlin always being the target and would have forced him to learn how to use a gun, factoring in the fact that it might mean that cover-Merlin might shoot himself in his own foot in the process. Merlin had countered with Arthur no doubt realizing that Merlin also ran the risk of shooting his own nuts off because of his supposed inexperience with weapons, but Arthur had trumped the argument with a frustrated, " _Mer_ lin. Does it even matter? Just use your magic to turn it invisible and no one will know it's there."

The look on Merlin's face had been priceless.

"Fine," Merlin said, shrugging. 

"And you're going to wear something _functional_ ," Arthur added, mostly for his own benefit. "None of those low-rider skinnies that show the crack of your arse, because as much as I love it, we don't need Gwaine distracted."

"So take him with you," Merlin said, and there was definitely a sulking tone in Merlin's voice.

"Please don't," Gwaine said. "And if he wears those tight black jeans --"

This time, someone did end up cuffing Gwaine on the back of his head, and it was Perceval. 

Gwaine rubbed the back of his head and shot Perceval a scowl, mumbled something under his breath that _he'd only been kidding_.

"There's a method to my madness. I'm doubling up everyone's security. Leon and Geraint will be with Morgana at the offices. Lance and Galahad are already at the lab with Gwen," Arthur said. 

If he could help it, he definitely wouldn't be assigning Gwaine to Merlin's security team. He had a feeling that Gwaine wasn't going to give up on trying to find out what they'd been up to the night before, and while Arthur had experience holding Gwaine off, he wasn't too certain that Merlin's anti-interrogation training would be up to the task. He had to risk it. "If something happens at the lab, it's going to happen fast. Merlin, you're staying with Gwen the entire time, keep to your cover as much as possible, and let everyone usher you out. Don't stick around. Go on the run."

Between Gwaine, Kay, and Galahad, the team would lose their pursuers fast. Lance would keep the team pulled together, and if any of them got hurt… 

"And if they stage a siege on Pendragon, well, that'll bite them on their arse real quick." Leon would never leave Morgana, and if he had to go lead an assault, Geraint would stick to her like glue. Perceval and Bohrs both had the loudest voices in combat, and as useful as Kay's skills would be in close quarters, Arthur had a feeling that if it all went to shite, he would need Perceval and Bohrs even more. "Everyone clear on this?"

"Clear," Kay said, and the others nodded in agreement, even Merlin.

"What about the Colonel?" Gwaine asked.

Arthur paused and exhaled with a sigh. He had gone back and forth on this so many times,that he wasn't sure where he stood when it came to his father. His last few attempts to convince Uther to accept some of his men as his personal bodyguard -- men that Arthur was one-hundred-percent certain had not been compromised in any way by the NWO or the Directory, or God help everyone, Olaf's people over at Her Majesty's Secret Service -- had not only failed miserably, but had damn nearly sparked off the third World War. He wasn't sure why Uther was adamant that he could take care of himself, not when Uther made it the company's party line that no one could take care of themselves all the time, but this was one issue that he was going to have to let go.

He shared another glance with Merlin, who frowned questioningly at him.

"I'll talk to him when we get in, but I'm not holding my breath. I'll make sure there's eyes on him."

Arthur paused long enough to let his men come up with questions, but the situation was more or less as clear-cut as it would get, and no one had anything else to say. "All right. Then let's go."

Perceval and Bohrs returned in less than a minute with their weapons and their jackets. Arthur adjusted his gun harness under his coat, giving Merlin a long look before glancing at everyone else. "Give us a minute."

"Sure," Gwaine said, but he didn't move. Perceval curled a hand around Gwaine's biceps and tugged him out of earshot.

"Are you overthinking this?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Possibly," Arthur said. He couldn't count how many times he expected something to happen, only to be gravely disappointed. This time, though, he didn't think his gut feeling was wrong. "Something's not right, though. I have a feeling that we're going to be getting our call today."

If Merlin understood what that meant, he didn't show it. Merlin chewed the corner of his mouth, and finally nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll watch them."

"Watch _you_ ," Arthur said, leaning in for a quick kiss that was warmer and longer than planned.

"Likewise," Merlin said, raising a warning brow.

Arthur gave him a short, sharp nod, gestured for Perceval and Bohrs, and left the flat.

Right before the door shut behind him, Arthur heard Gwaine slap his hands together and say, "All right. Now that he's gone, you're going to tell us _everything_ \--"

He shook his head with a grumble, settled in the passenger seat of the car, and flipped through his phone. Merlin had restored the original settings but had changed the programming to ensure he was copied on any call from Morgause or anyone else from the NWO. There were no messages from that quarter, but he raised a brow at the newest message to have come in while he'd been giving his team their orders.

_Lunch? The Ritz. Today, if at all possible._

There was no question who the message was from. The Ritz was ridiculously expensive. Not to mention that there was no name or number attached to the message at all -- which could, by every indication, mean that Merlin sent him a surreptitious message that he didn't want tracked, and if Merlin didn't want something tracked, it wouldn't be. There was also the undertone of _immediately_ in _Today, if at all possible_ , which narrowed the field down to only one person.

Olaf.

Arthur didn't bother to hit reply. Without a number, it wouldn't go anywhere. He could dial in the number he knew for Olaf's phone, but right now, he couldn't be bothered.

He shut the phone without answering -- if Olaf was left to sit at the table waiting for a date that wouldn't show, then so be it. Arthur was not his lackey. Hell, if anything, he answered the Directory's summons even less frequently than he did Olaf's, which was saying something.

Bohrs and Perceval were discussing logistics -- Bohrs was happy to take the lead if Perceval would strong-arm any enemy attackers out of the way, toss Arthur over his shoulder like a potato sack and run like hell. Arthur considered retorting that he could run like hell _just fine on my own, thank you very much_ until he noticed that they were both trying to get a rise out of him. 

"What's on the agenda?" Perceval asked when their first attempts to get his attention failed.

"The usual bollocks," Arthur said, and they all knew that the usual bollocks amounted to paperwork, meetings, and phone calls that Arthur, in his current guise as the wayward, recalcitrant son, would be avoiding as much as possible. "And while I'm doing that, I'm going to walk through the divisions and talk to the department heads. I want them on their toes."

He paused, then considered. "Bohrs, you know a bloke in security?"

"Yeah, the junior head. You want me to give him the heads-up?" 

"May as well. They might listen to you more than they'll listen to me right now --"

"Not really," Perceval said, his tone quiet. "Most of the boys know something's up."

Arthur nodded, unsurprised. It was to be expected -- his cover would only go so far, no matter how much the Directory wasted resources to ensure that everyone and their mother knew what a so-called bad boy Arthur Pendragon _really_ was. With the majority of the staff having been in the British Armed Forces, some of whom still had contacts on active duty, it wasn't hard to imagine that one or two would call their mates and ask, "What's up with Pendragon? He didn't use to be such a pillock --" and find out that, all things considered, Arthur _was_ a pillock but he'd been hanging out with suits. A smart former soldier -- and there were many of them in Pendragon Consulting's employ -- would put one and two together and come up with _"Secret service, so let's keep mum"._

The only question was when would the rumours reach the NWO? The Directory was monitoring the NWO's lines and keeping watch as best as their limited resources could handle, and Arthur imagined that Olaf had people on it, too. Major Kilgarrah no doubt had exercised a generous amount of muscle to contribute to the subterfuge, but in the end, it really was only a matter of time before Arthur was found out.

Not just Arthur, either. Merlin, Perceval, Bohrs, the rest of the team.

Arthur had prepared contingency plans in case of just such an occurrence, and he was being careful to keep an eye out for any signs that their masquerade had been revealed, but until then…

Until then, it was full speed ahead, and mind the flotsam in the waters.

"Do they know what?" Arthur asked.

"No. They know better. If anyone asks what we're doing, and we say we're under your orders, they get out of our way, double-time," Perceval said.

"It's starting to be not as much fun as it used to be," Bohrs said, glancing sideways. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the traffic in front of the Pendragon building; instead of turning into the lane leading underground to the parking garage, he drove past and looped the block, keeping an eye out for suspicious vehicles. "I mean, the whole reason I signed on was so I could chest-thump and stare down people and dare them to say no."

"A pity the Directory didn't know that when you signed on. They would've gotten you at a bargain," Arthur said, trying not to look obvious when he studied the slick sedan with blacked-out windows. "Perce?"

"I saw them," Perceval said, already typing something in his phone. He'd been keeping an inventory of all the license plates and car makes that had been hanging around the Pendragon building ever since they started, and the database had become something short of formidable. "It was parked there the last couple of days, too. Do you want me to scare them off?"

"No. Send the numbers to Merlin for an ID."

"Not the Directory?"

"We want it now, don't we? Not next week," Arthur said with a scoff. "If it's anything we need to worry about, he'll be the first to know."

There was a few minutes of silence while they stopped at an intersection. "Merlin's asking why I couldn't have texted him before he shut down his computer for the trip to the lab."

"Why should we make it easy for him?" Bohrs retorted.

Arthur smirked. If Bohrs had to ask that, he had never seen how fast Merlin's computer could boot up. He cleared his throat. "While we're waiting, once we're inside, Bohrs, I want you to secure the car. Perce, come with me to the office until Bohrs joins us there. We'll do the walk-through, and once we're done, I'm going to a meeting with the Colonel."

"Is that on the books?" Perceval asked, thumbing through his phone. He handed it over his shoulder at Arthur a second later. "Merlin says it's NWO. One of Bryn's people, apparently."

"What, already?"

"You've seen Merlin crack codes in his bloody _head_ ," Perceval told Bohrs dryly. "Of course, already."

Arthur skimmed through the file that Merlin forwarded to Perceval before returning the phone. Bohrs was driving down into the parking garage before he said, "No, the Colonel has no idea I have a meeting with him. Follow me in, and if he's not alone stay. Otherwise, you may want to dive for the foxhole."

"That bad?" Bohrs asked.

"You tell me. He's the one who approved external IT people to come waltzing into our building, bypassing security," Arthur said. The worst part? If Arthur understood correctly, Uther had made the arrangements nearly as soon as the network had gone down. For Lightforce to come in the next day after -- that was going to cost the company a bloody fortune. 

Bohrs pulled the car in front of the dedicated elevators and Arthur stepped out, Perceval right ahead of him.

The morning went like clockwork. When Arthur was supposed to be attending a meeting, he went to speak to the IT personnel. When he was expected to be at his desk, working on one of the urgent reports, he was walking through the security perimeter and having quiet conversations with the staff. When he was meant to be at his desk, ducking phone calls, Arthur barged into Uther's office, Perceval and Bohrs on his heels.

While Perceval and Bohrs fanned out on either side of Arthur and proceeded to check the private bathroom and side room, clearing both, Arthur marched right up to his father's desk with as cocky a walk as he could manage. Uther's expression darkened and he leaned back in his chair, dismissing the IT Director with a wave of his hand.

The IT Director took one look at Arthur, quietly said, "Oh," and gathered up his papers and reached for his laptop. It was all too suspicious to Arthur, and he put a hand on the computer to keep the man from shutting it. "What's that you're working on?"

"Oh, just." The man paused, clearing his throat, and glanced at Uther. "Um. Budget projections."

"That's interesting, because this looks like tracking software to me. Did you finally realize that we've been hacked?" Arthur leaned back a bit, frowning as he tilted the laptop screen. "Oh, it looks like you have a local IP address. A node, actually. You didn't drill through deep enough, or you'd know that the signal's been bounced through at least a dozen servers. Really, you should take your subordinates' advice and retire, or something, because they've been after you to upgrade the pingback bot for months. If we'd done that, then we would know who was responsible behind this attack by now."

"That's -- uh. That's ridiculous. We have the latest version of the bot -- where did you hear that? No one's spoken to me --"

"That's funny," Arthur said, cutting him off. He studied the man for a long time -- he was a dinosaur and of the worst sort, because he hadn't done anything in the last few years to keep up with the changing technology. He really needed to be replaced, but Uther had put him on the board, and it would take some finesse for Arthur to rearrange the department once this whole mess with the Directory's mission was over with. "That's really funny, because I saw the requisition form on your desk for a new bot under a pile of other so-called _budget projections_."

"You’ve _what!_ " The man whirled around to look pleadingly at the Colonel and said, "I won't stand for this!"

What Arthur heard was, _If you don't do something about your wayward son, I will!_

Personally, Arthur would love to see him try. Instead, he shrugged nonchalantly, dropped into a chair, and slouched. "And we're supposed to sit idly by while you spend the day seeing how you can reroute certain aspects of your department's _budget projections_ into your pocket while our networks crash? Yeah, not buying it. You should seriously consider a career choice before security tosses you out on your arse."

"That's quite enough, Arthur," Uther said, finally chiming in. His voice was flat and chilled, with the edge of monotone, his expression drawn and unimpressed, the perfect image of a long-suffering father. "Thomas, you may go."

Thomas left.

There was a five minute staring match between father and son before they both sat up straight and shook their heads. Perceval and Bohrs took this as their cue and left the office, and it wasn't until the door shut behind them that Arthur sat up straight. "This is far more serious than your boy is making it sound."

"I'm sure," the Colonel said. "I've read your report, Arthur. You've been very thorough. Please implement all of your recommendations -- I assume that the vast majority comes from Merlin?"

Arthur bristled inwardly -- less for the implication that, maybe, just maybe, Arthur might not have come up with those ideas on his own, and more for the tone of dismissal. He skipped over confirmation, and went right for the crux of the matter. "We don't need an outside party to audit our systems. That's a serious security breach. I don't even know why you think it's a good idea in the _least_ \--"

"Was destroying Thomas' reputation really necessary?" Uther asked, knocking Arthur's lecture off the rails. "We all know that he's excellent at his job, but implying that this failure is down to his careful budget juggling --"

Arthur's brows pinched in the middle of his forehead and he tried to get a read on the Colonel. Uther was straight-backed and stiff, his shoulders in a solid, tense line, and his face was the sort of slack that came with carefully schooling one's features to reveal nothing whatsoever. Since when did the Colonel care about the budget of one department when that department was critical to the company's security? 

Arthur leaned forward. "I doubt that it's the instigating cause. As I understand it, anyone with enough determination could have burrowed through our firewalls. That's not the issue. The issue is that we need to preserve our security now and rebuild from within. I don't see how giving classified access to outside personnel that we haven't even vetted is going to restore confidence in Pendragon's holdings. It's bad enough that the military is getting wind of this and is going to be doing a site visit later on today to see what we're doing to restore our network, and to safeguard them without them thinking we can't do it without external assistance. And heaven forbid, what if they start thinking if we can't do this simple thing, then how are we supposed to supply them with the development prototypes and the active duty models that they've contracted us for?"

"Let me worry about that," the Colonel said. He moved a few file folders from one corner of his desk to the other, and gave Arthur a sour look that Arthur had long interpreted to mean that his father was thinking how best he could smooth down ruffled feathers by schmoozing with the right General and taking a Colonel or two out for an expensive, splashed-out dinner.

"Cancel the audit," Arthur said.

"And how would cancelling the audit within the hour of their arrival make us look to our clients, never mind our stockholders, Arthur?" Uther asked. "I'm not concerned. After all, I have you to arrange the supervisory teams to ensure that they don't make away without our files, hm?"

"You're not budging on this at all?" 

Uther gave Arthur a dismissive glance. "Why? We're following our own protocols. We can't be faulted for that."

An external audit was warranted according to the manuals that Arthur himself had reviewed, but not until the network was secured and only after the auditors were properly vetted and supervised. As it was, the former hadn't occurred, and the latter was impossible given the narrow time frame and circumstances. Arthur stood up abruptly. "And your contingency measures if unnecessarily accelerating through our protocols? What are those? I mean, if it goes to shit, and not running checks on the people in turns around and bites us in the arse?"

The Colonel barely disguised a roll of his eyes and glared at Arthur. He gave Arthur the briefest of nods. "Just worry about yourself and Morgana."

"Right," Arthur said, turning on his heel. He knew an end to an argument with the Colonel when he saw one, and when it was just wasted breath to try to continue. Perceval and Bohrs gave him a questioning look, on the way to the elevator, but Arthur only shook his head. "Let's make sure the staff is debriefed. Again."

His phone buzzed, but it was too soon to be Merlin's usual check-in text.

He unlocked the screen and was chilled by Olaf's latest text message.

_Damn it, Arthur. Don't stand me up. Not today._

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Gwaine wasted no time.

"All right. He's gone. Now... You can tell us. Go on. Hurry up. He might come back."

"No," Merlin said. He stared into the frothy protein shake mixture and wondered when it was that he'd started drinking these for breakfast instead of grabbing eggs and toast or a plain bowl of cereal. After swallowing the last, semi-chunky dregs, Merlin decided that this habit had started somewhere between the time Arthur figured out that Merlin's magical endurance was proportional to how much protein he ate, and after the two miserable weeks of trudging into the kitchen too late to grab any of the cereal before Bohrs emptied the box and finished off the milk.

"He won't know you told us," Gwaine said, following Merlin to the kitchen sink. Merlin rinsed out the blender and his glass, putting them both aside.

"No," Merlin said.

"I'm not going to tell him. You're not going to tell him, right, Kay?" Gwaine asked.

"Tell who what?" Kay asked, plopping down on the sofa, finding the remote. He flicked through the channels one by one.

"See?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. He whistled, and the mechadragon swooped down from its perch on top of the bookcase, landing a little clumsily on the dining room table. "The answer's still no."

"You can trust us."

"No." Merlin packed up his toolkit.

"Why won't you tell us --"

"No, no, and no," Merlin said, typing a few commands into the slick black netbook. The screen changed to the multi-step secure shut-down protocol. The mechadragon stretched out its long neck before flapping its wings in a crinkle of high-tech metallic fabric.

"But why not?" Gwaine asked. He reached out to touch the mechadragon; it nipped at his finger hard enough to draw blood and made a rough noise -- the fans running on overdrive -- that sounded like a growl. Gwaine sucked on his finger and frowned at the mechadragon. "Mate, this thing is getting way too life-like."

"Look, Gwaine," Merlin said, leaning a hip against the dining room table. He tapped a thin screwdriver on his knuckle before pointing it at Gwaine. "You wanted me to distract Arthur so that the team could have a few nights off. I did that. Actually, I did better than that -- he cancelled training this morning too, didn't he?"

"He did," Kay said, raising the remote. The telly switched to another channel.

"You thought he was getting a little wound up over Morgause. That's taken care of, isn't it?" Merlin asked.

"Only because he's got this whole IT security thing going on," Gwaine said, waving that off.

"Got to admit he's a lot more pleasant today than he was a few days ago," Kay said. He flipped to another channel.

"One doesn't necessarily have something to do with the other," Gwaine retorted. He crossed his arms and studied Merlin through narrow slits. The effect was supposed to look wise and fearsome and interrogative, but it just made him look comical.

After Arthur went for his shower that morning, Merlin headed down into the kitchen to do something about his grumbling belly, certain that the team would take one look at his face and know exactly what they'd been up to a few nights ago. Not only did they think that Merlin and Arthur had been up to no good, they were completely unwilling to believe that it hadn't involved a few clubs, a lot of alcohol, and some back-alley snogging. After all, what _else_ could make Arthur as mellow as he was now?

Instead of telling them, Merlin had shaken his head and contrived a few outrageous stories meant to distract and titillate. It had worked for a while. The questions even tapered off and they were about to argue about the last night's footie match.

Then Gwaine decided that Merlin was up to something -- or maybe it was Perceval who'd started it when he'd asked, "No, Merlin, really. What _did_ you do to Arthur?" -- and just wouldn't stop.

Now, they were well past Irritation Point and well into Aggravation Alley, and Merlin had had quite enough.

Merlin closed his netbook and secured the second. He gathered up a few tools and slid them into the leather roll. He picked up a solid steel case, cracked it open, and tapped at it, giving the mechadragon a few commands in Welsh.

The mechadragon made a sound that was a cross between an _I don't want to_ grumble and an excited _Oh, we're going somewhere_ that Merlin most definitely had not programmed into it. It crawled into the case, sat back on its haunches to stretch out its wings and fold them properly against its body, and sank down into the fuzzy velvet lining, bracing itself automatically against transport jostling.

Merlin closed the lid, flipped the latches, and finished loading his backpack with assorted tools, radio devices, and the netbook. Anyone watching the house would see Merlin emerge loaded with gear and wonder what he was doing, which was Arthur's plan to distract them. Neither of them thought that the Directory would be fussed by Merlin's mysterious case, but the NWO might be interested. Whether or not they would act was the question, and something that Arthur couldn't anticipate.

When he looked up, Gwaine was watching him, his arms crossed.

"All right," Merlin said. "I'm going to tell you two things. And you're going to quit with all the fucking questions about that night, yeah?"

Gwaine grinned and uncrossed his arms. Even Kay tilted his head toward them, trying not to look as if he were paying attention to anything other than the telly. "Yeah, all right. Let's have it, then."

"First, what happened is between me and Arthur and it's going to stay between me and Arthur for a while." Gwaine rolled his eyes and groaned, his mouth falling open to protest, but Merlin pushed on. "Second, we've got a job to do, so how about we go and do it? We're going to be walking out of the house with gear. Now, the Directory might not care, but the NWO might, so we've got to keep an eye out. Worse, if there's going to be a problem at Pendragon, we have to be ready to act. So how about you shut your gob and focus?"

Gwaine huffed, but before he could say anything, Kay said, "Yeah, sounds like a plan. You need to get ready?"

"Quick shower, then we can go," Merlin said.

Gwaine heaved a sigh, and said, "Fine. I'll get you a gun."

Merlin gave Gwaine a long, considering look before giving him a firm nod. Gwaine wasn't going to let it go, but he wasn't going to let it get in the way of them doing their job, either.

He headed up the stairs, darted into the bathroom, and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. He bypassed a shave, towelled himself dry, dressed in loose, worn jeans and a solid grey button-down that he didn't bother tucking in. When he got downstairs, Kay and Gwaine were waiting for him.

Kay threw him a shoulder holster, but Gwaine was fiddling with the gun, paying particular attention to the chamber slide.

"I don't like this one," he announced, and headed to the back room.

Merlin watched him go, exchanging glances with Kay. He loosened the straps -- all the physical training that Arthur was putting them through was giving him unexpected muscle mass, and the harness was tight in the shoulders -- and pulled it on. "What's with him?"

"What do you think?" Kay asked, shrugging.

"He's pissed about yesterday?"

"You were the both of you out of his line of sight and you didn't call in. You know how he is when that happens," Kay said.

Anxious, on edge, razor-sharp, prone to taking unnecessary risks as a result. Merlin nodded. "Yeah, I know. But why?"

The team had gone through over a hundred missions together before Merlin came along, and as close as they'd become, accepting Merlin into the fold, there were still a number of things that Merlin didn't know about everyone. He didn't, for example, know why Bohrs had a daily ritual of checking and rechecking the change in his pocket, making certain it amounted to exactly one pound forty-nine, going so far as to harass the rest of the team for the right number of pennies or to give away the surplus when he had too much. There was no explaining away Geraint's particular flavour of chronic accident-proneness, or why none of the team ever teased him about it. And, scarily, while Merlin could understand why Gwaine was far better off psychologically being a long-distance sniper instead of a too-close-for-comfort shooter, he didn't know _why_ , just like he didn't know why Gwaine got antsy when he couldn't keep eyes on certain members of the team or when there was radio silence.

He'd never asked before, and he asked now knowing that he might not ever get an answer.

Kay just gave him a thin smile, a _who knows?_ shrug, and pulled on his jacket just as Gwaine emerged from the back of the house.

The gun was a 9mm Browning and there were enough clips shoved into his hands that Merlin nearly dropped half. He raised a brow at Gwaine and asked, "What, we're going into a war zone or something?"

"Never know, mate," Gwaine said, giving Merlin one of those easy, throw-away, completely insouciant smiles. There was a crinkle around Gwaine's eyes, a dullness to his tone, a grate of bones cracking together as he turned away and put on his own coat.

Merlin watched him for a while before staring down at the pile in his hands, shoving a clip here and there -- two in the loops on his shoulder holster, one in his back pocket, a third and fourth and fifth into his backpack, another one in the case with his mechadragon.

The mechadragon purred (a low thrum of the on-board fans) at the company and cradled the clip close to its chest.

Merlin stared at it in consternation before shaking his head and making a mental note to double-check the anthropomorphizing sub-routine in the mechadragon's programming. Surely he hadn't put in _that_ much.

He put on his leather coat and followed the others out of the house, turning around once the door was shut behind him, and cast a protective ward. No one would be going in or out without him knowing.

 

* * *

 

The Nanotechnology and Advanced Robotics laboratory was located in a super-secret facility in the heart of London, a stone's throw away from the Thames, where tourists of every ilk, dimension, and shape could gawk at architecture that was older than the last World War, wonder what was inside and whether there were working toilets, but be none the wiser. 

Beyond the otherwise unimpressive front desk that was actually manned by an armed receptionist rumoured to have sharpshooting skills rivalling even Gwaine's, there was an obfuscating maze of corridors and administrative offices before they reached the _real_ functioning part of the building, which were the pristine Clean Room laboratories just outside the bulletproof frosted glass doors.

"Visitor tags here," the woman at the security desk said curtly, barely looking up from her console. "Sign here. And show me your IDs, boys, because you're not going through otherwise."

Gwen gave them a pained look from down the corridor. She was all business in a way that she wasn't outside of work, dressed in a pantsuit without the suit aspect, her rose-coloured shirt open at the throat, her photo ID hanging from the pocket of her crisp white lab coat. Her curly hair was pinned back severely, but that came as no surprise to Merlin. The last thing one wanted to see when they worked in a nanotechnology lab under a hundred times to a thousand times magnification was a big, spidery, scaly hair.

Lance was with her, one arm crossed over his chest, the elbow of the other propped in the crook of his arm, covering his mouth to keep from snickering, as if he could already see how the conversation was going to go from here on out, and how badly it might blow up in their faces. Like Gwaine and Kay, Lance was in civilian clothing, dressed well enough to pass muster in most workplaces, but not so properly that he wouldn't be able to move -- and move fast -- if he needed to. Unlike them, though, he wasn't wearing his jacket, and his shoulder holster and gun was in full view.

Gwaine leaned against the desk and smiled. "Are you sure you need to see ID --"

"Off my desk before I shoot you. Hand over your ID, or you don't make it through. I don't care if Dr. Dulac vouches for you." The woman tapped at her flatscreen console, ignoring them until they produced the desired effects. She not only checked the photographs to make sure they were one and the same, but she drilled them on the contents:

"What's your birthdate?"

"Well, honeycakes, if you want to know my sign, all you've got to do is ask," Gwaine said. He deflated like a balloon at her glare and mumbled day, month and year. "I'm expecting a birthday card now, you know that."

Merlin was fairly certain that Gwaine's birthday wasn't in November.

"What's your current residence?," she asked Kay.

"Yes," Kay said curtly. He crossed his arms and smiled enigmatically, which, for him, was the equivalent of telling the receptionist to fuck off.

"You too," she told Merlin.

"Blue," Merlin answered with raised brows and a hopeful look, and the woman exhaled in an annoyed huff before putting their licenses on the flatbed scanner and making electronic copies. Merlin made a mental note to wipe them from the hard drives. They weren't technically supposed to be there.

"Please place your loose change, metallic objects, and carry-ons on the metal detector and walk through. One at a time, please," the security guard told them, her voice bordering on impatience.

Gwaine didn't bother dumping anything in the basket before walking through, and the metal detector keened right into the blazing red of the warning region, beeping noisily before the woman shut it off and ran a hand scanner over Gwaine's outstretched arms and legs.

"You might have to do a hand search, sweetcheeks," Gwaine suggested. "In fact, I strongly -- urf."

They all winced, because there was no way that the wand could have lodged itself up Gwaine's arse quite so firmly. 

"Oh, terribly sorry about that," the woman said flatly. She took note of Gwaine's gun but didn't take it from him.

Merlin kept his backpack and the mechadragon's carrying case with him before walking through the metal detector after Gwaine. If the warning beep hadn't sounded before, it was on full alert now, and the guard rolled her eyes before shutting it off again, motioning for him to spread his arms out, and cast the metal detector wand over him. She found the bullet clips, the gun, the two pence he had forgotten was in his pocket, and motioned for him to put down both the backpack and the carrying case.

"I'm going to need to go through them by hand," she said.

"Um. No," Merlin said.

"Um. Yes," the woman said, raising an arched brow. "It's well within my power to restrain you on suspicion of --"

"Oh, stuff it, Helen," Kay groused, coming through impatiently. The beeping drowned out whatever else Kay might have said, but to Merlin it looked as if he'd said, _fuck this shite_ , _protocol wedged up your arse_ and _bloody power trip, must not get any at home_. The woman turned off the warning beeps just as Kay said, "… just prickly that Arthur didn't give you twenty-four hours' notice. You know damn well who we are --"

"He's new," Helen said, thumbing at Merlin critically. She eyed the case in his hands. "I still need to check that. You know the rules. No video cameras, no photography, no recording devices."

"I'd like to see you try and pry my phone from my cold, dead hand," Kay said warningly.

Gwaine put his hands on Merlin shoulders. "And if you don't know this gent, you've got to start reading the company newsletter more. Didn't you hear that Arthur's got himself a boy toy now?"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"What's he doing here, then? Mr. Pendragon's at HQ," Helen said.

"Helen," Gwen said tiredly from the corridor, but Helen ignored her. They all stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, and if no one was going to break the stalemate, then Merlin damn well would.

"You seem like a lovely lady and all, but it's above your pay grade," Merlin said cheekily. He adjusted the weight of his backpack, switched the metal case from one hand to the other, and followed Gwen.

Behind them, Gwaine put in a few parting shots with Helen, and Kay dragged him away.

"You shouldn't tease Helen like that," Gwen said once they were out of earshot through the glass doors. She made sure that the magnetic lock was activated before continuing down a new corridor. "She really is a good shot."

Gwaine snorted. "No one's better than me."

"Besides, what about Perce?" Lance asked.

"Yes! Yes! What about Perce? If you keep this up, you'll break his heart," Gwen said, hitting Gwaine in the arm.

"His heart is unbreakable -- ow! Damn it, Gwen --"

"Don't be an idiot. Why do you think it's taken him this long to hit on you in the first place?"

"Because he was a raging heterosexual?" Gwaine asked. "Took me a while, but I finally turned him?"

Merlin exchanged glances with Kay and Lance. Lance rolled his eyes and shook his head as if he'd given up trying to beat sense into Gwaine a long time ago, and was content to let his wife take over for a while. Kay exhaled in exasperation and stared down at his feet as they walked, probably wondering if he'd worn his steel-toed boots and if he wanted to go ahead and take the risk of breaking his toes on Gwaine's arse.

"So," Merlin said, slowing down while Gwaine and Gwen argued up ahead, "Where are we setting up?"

"Gwen's bunker," Lance said. "Galahad's already scattered the assistants and is making sure they don't come crawling back begging for Gwen's tools --"

"And while they're gone, I'm going to tag every single one of my tools and equipment so that I can find them the next time they go walking," Gwen said, glancing their way. Gwaine said something that Merlin didn't catch, but it wasn't hard to guess that it might be along the lines of _wow, Gwen, not many women would share their_ toys _like that, if you know what I mean_ , and the Gwaine-beating resumed.

Lance watched the two for a moment with the look of a man unsure whose rescue he would need to go to, and shook himself before turning to Merlin. "-- but it's nice and private in there. There's wireless and a hard line and a direct fibre and an ultralight line, and enough repeaters that if we go into lockdown, we can still stream the footie game."

"Good to know," Kay said. "It's supposed to be a good one today."

"We're not keeping Gwen from anything, are we?" Merlin asked. "If she's in the middle of a project --"

"She'd still want to help. Besides, the bunker's her lab, and she's the only one with unrestricted access to all the databases in the building." Lance shot him a quick glance. "Not that I suppose it would stop you if she didn't."

"Not much does," Merlin said with a grin.

They lost Gwen and Gwaine somewhere up ahead around a sharp turn that led to a dead end. The dead end turned out to be a concealed door, the controls an illuminated panel off on the left side. Lance flashed his access card, and half of the wall slid open seamlessly.

The new entrance opened up to a wide corridor made out of stark cement that was in complete contrast to the Clean Lab environment of the upper laboratory levels. The yellow light turned the gray a dull, shiny blue, and they passed several doorways numerically coded in black paint until they reached a circuitous staircase that was about as wide across as a tower turret and just as cavernous. They caught up to Gwen and Gwaine at the bottom, the two of them bickering like five year olds.

Gwaine was holding Gwen under the ceiling drip of groundwater trickling through the earth.

"Stop it! It's my last clean lab coat!"

"That's what you get for calling me a fluffy-haired heartless lothario!"

"You _are_ one!"

"I don't even know what a lothario is!"

"Look in the dictionary! Your picture --"

Lance broke the two apart. "And this is why we never have you over, Gwaine. Leave my wife alone."

"I don't come over because your wife keeps trying to set me up with one of her foul friends," Gwaine protested, straightening his collar.

"My friends are not foul!"

"What do you call that bird with the long pink fingernails, the one she uses to gouge someone's eyeballs out?"

"Lillian. Her name is Lillian. And you went out with her for two weeks --"

"I had no choice! She found out where I lived, and I wonder who told her --"

"-- before you dumped her without so much as a good-bye, thanks for the ride --"

"-- it's called being on active duty, Gwen, and you should remember that, Lance left, too, and... wait. What? Did you just say, _good-bye, thanks for the ride_?" Gwaine asked, choking back a laugh.

Gwen tried for innocent, and failed. She snickered.

"You set me up," Gwaine said, his voice flat and disbelieving. "You set me up with the most horrible creature I've ever met on the face of the planet, male or female, and... and... for what?"

"Revenge," Lance said, keeping between the two of them, shoving at Gwaine when he made a lunge for Gwen. "It's about time you figured it out, too. But, you know what? Do me a favour and quit pranking Gwen. We're still trying to get the glitter out of our car."

Gwaine glowered, and made a half-hearted grab for Gwen. "Conniving little --"

Gwen ducked away from his grasp and slid her hand around Merlin's arm, pulling him along hastily. "Shall we get you set up?"

"Sounds like a plan," Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder. "Just so you know, if he gets antsy, I'm not getting between the two of you."

"Oh, he won't try anything here. He'll be busy thinking up another prank. It's an ongoing thing -- ever since high school. I think I'm winning by twenty one points," Gwen said. She led them through a metal door that was more airlock than door -- Merlin felt a shiver when he heard the clang of it ringing locked behind him -- and down a corridor so short and narrow that Merlin immediately felt claustrophobic.

They emerged into one of the biggest underground bunkers that Merlin had ever been in -- the biggest, bar none, no doubt, because it was nearly large enough to house a 747. Considering that half of the bunker was shrouded in darkness, and Merlin couldn't see over the tall bookshelves that were ceiling-to-floor, there might yet be a 747 somewhere in there.

Galahad greeted them with an aborted glower -- the glower no doubt intended for any technician trying to weasel their way back into Gwen's lab -- and nodded gratefully at Lance, who locked the door behind them. 

"You lot were gone what, ten minutes? Well, the rats tried to crawl in no fewer than six times. I almost shot one."

Gwen made a disapproving sound. "I have to pay for the replacements, you know."

"I said almost. Besides, it's your own damn fault, you know. They all want a peek at the top-secret thingamabob you said Merlin was bringing in for you to look at," Galahad said, and turned to lure Kay into a game of cards.

Lance took Gwaine around the bunker to show him some improvements to the space, leaving Merlin alone with Gwen; the two stared at each other with a small, nervous smile before chuckling and shaking their heads. Merlin hadn't spent a great deal of time with Gwen, and considering how much Lance talked about her, he probably knew more about Gwen than Gwen realized, so it wasn't as if she was a stranger. Still, they were awkward and stilted and not sure how to be with each other, but Gwen was the one who shook her head and waved it all aside. "Let's get you started, then you can show me the dragon Gaius built."

"That you both built," Merlin corrected, putting the metal case down on the floor. He unlocked the hinges and cracked the seal -- if the mechadragon was inclined, it would creep out on its own. "The tech you put in is ages beyond what Uncle Gaius can do, but you're not using it to its full potential, you know."

"I know," Gwen said, colouring a bit. "That's one of Arthur's recurring complaints -- that I don't think outside the box enough. The problem is --"

"There's no box?"

They exchanged big grins full of rare understanding and engineering solidarity, and just like that, the tension between them dissipated. 

"Here, take that desk, set up whatever you need," Gwen said. Between the two of them, they made short work of clearing off the debris. Gwen went to her semi-enclosed office while Merlin booted up his laptops, loaded the search modules, and connected with the Pendragon network. Initiating the autobot hack -- a hack that he'd perfected considering the numerous times he'd used it -- took only a few seconds, and he inserted the search program behind the firewalls.

By the time he was finished, the mechadragon had crawled out of the case and had perched itself on the edge of the desk, holding the gun clip in its claws as if it were a teddy bear. Its head was tilted off to the side, and there was a soft chirruping while it struggled with the limited vocal range of its on-board computer until it imitated the distant sounds of rainfall from the Thames river overhead.

It chirped a questioning sound.

"We're underground," Merlin told it, keeping an eye on the sensor alert. He doubted that he would get caught, never mind _noticed_ \-- he was hacking the network from an in-house secure connection, using a spoofed account with an unlimited access rating -- but he wanted to get the majority of the network search done before the outside consultants arrived at HQ and bollocksed up the network entirely.

The mechadragon's wings drooped, its ears flattened against its exoskeleton, and it huffed in a rumble of fans.

"My God," Gwen said, appearing at Merlin's shoulder, "It understands that -- and did it really, is it really upset about being underground?"

Merlin grinned. "Likes to fly, that one. I don't let him out of the house much --"

"Well, then, let it fly in here, we've got plenty of room," Gwen said, and the mechadragon's wings perked up, spreading wide.

It chirruped a question.

"Yes, go, it's all right. Don't break anything, and leave that behind," Merlin said. The mechadragon held onto the gun clip even tighter. "Oh, for. Give me that --"

The mechadragon swooped down from the desk like a flying squirrel catching a breeze -- and there must have been one from the air vents because it soared up over their heads in a spiral before getting enough momentum to fly higher.

"You've improved the stabilizers," Gwen remarked.

"Tweaked the servos," Merlin said, sitting down to enter a few commands in his laptop.

"How is it compensating for the additional weight?"

"Constantly checks and adjustments. You think it might drain the power cell, but it recoups the power loss mechanically. I lengthened the tail, too, it helps with that, especially if it’s carrying something heavy," Merlin said. "When it comes back, bribe it with something shiny, and it'll let you take a look at its schematics."

Gwen clapped her hands together and grinned. "Excellent."

She started to walk away, thought better of it, and came back. "How shiny is shiny? I have a laser pointer --"

"It's a dragon, Gwen," Merlin said, amused. "It likes having a hoard."

Gwen glanced at her wedding ring. Lance, who must have the ears of a bat, hollered, "Don't even."

Merlin was still chuckling to himself a half hour later, after he'd helped Gwen set up the mechadragon with the communication interface so that she could review the changes to the schematics. The search component of his hack was completed, and now he had triggers in nearly every single important folder in the database -- if they were opened, copied, reviewed, or scanned for any other purpose beyond a simple virus check, Merlin would know, and would be able to track the workstation.

Maybe even hack into the Pendragon security system and aim the cameras in the right direction, too.

His cell phone buzzed, and at a quick glance to the screen, Merlin saw that he wasn't getting a direct call -- this was a cloned call to Arthur's number. He stared at it for a few seconds before remembering that he'd set it up so that Arthur's cell would link to Merlin's when Morgause called, and he quickly brought it to his ear, setting a muffle so that he wouldn't be detected.

"…you have inconvenient timing," Arthur said, his voice flat and unimpressed. There were the sounds of footfalls as he retreated somewhere else -- probably looking for a spot where he could talk without being overheard. 

"If you want in, Pendragon, you have to be ready to respond at a drop of a hat," Morgause said, her tone equally flat and unimpressed, with an added twist of personal satisfaction added to the mix. "Whether you're on the loo or fucking into that boy toy of yours, it doesn't matter. When I call, you come running."

Arthur snorted, but he didn't answer. Merlin could make out the sound of a door shutting. "What do you want?"

"One of my men is among the crew who are _investigating_ the data outage. You are to ensure that he remains unmolested."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," Morgause said.

"And you didn't hear me. If he's one of the --"

"Shut up and listen. He's going to copy the Pendragon database and he is going to walk out unscathed. You are going to ensure that --"

"I'm not a fucking getaway car driver," Arthur snapped.

" _You_ wanted in," Morgause purred. " _You_ claimed that none of my men were worthy. Therefore, we must bow down to your superior ability, and accept your assistance in all things. Including this."

Arthur was deathly quiet.

"Who is it?"

"He will reveal himself to you when he is ready to leave, Pendragon," Morgause said, and hung up.

The connection to Arthur's phone broke, and Merlin stared at it for a few moments, wondering if he should call Arthur -- and it rang.

"Did you get that?" Arthur asked, his voice terse, and Merlin felt sorry for whoever was in Arthur's direct line of sight right now, because the tone alone was enough to murder someone in their sleep, with extra added violence for good measure.

"Heard everything," Merlin said, sitting back in his chair. Gwen must have picked up something in his tone because she moved away, out of earshot -- bless her, she went into the zone of plausible deniability without protest or argument. Lance and Gwaine rose from their posts and approached; Kay and Galahad stilled their card game. 

"What can you do?" Arthur asked.

"Whatever you want," Merlin said. He'd been formulating options ever since he heard what Morgause said. It came down to the well-guarded Pendragon database walking away from the company -- something that they must have tried to do from the outside, but couldn't attain since they were blocked by the firewalls and had been reduced to crashing the servers instead. Going in, copying the database itself -- it was ballsy, but it was also something that they would likely only get one chance to do, with or without Arthur's help. "They won't be copying the entire database. That's too large. They'll be targeting a specific section, I'm sure of it. I could --"

He paused, and Arthur prompted, "Options, _Mer_ lin. Now."

"Yeah, yeah. Trying to think of the best one, yeah? I could swap out the files they copy with dummy files. I could corrupt their version. I could encrypt --"

"Encrypt," Arthur said. "Unbreakable?"

"Who are you talking to?" Merlin snorted. "Can make it so when they run an on-site check, it opens fine, have a timer elapse, lock everything down so that when they run it later, they won't have anything useful --"

"Do it," Arthur said, and hung up.

"Watch your arse," Merlin said to the dial tone, and put down the phone. He cracked his fingers and told the rest of the team what was going on before getting started.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Morgana gave Arthur a shrewd look when he left her private executive bathroom, standing in his way, her arms crossed, as immovable a barrier as a bloody brick wall. Behind her, Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he'd just lost an argument and was trying to fathom where, exactly.

"Something's going on," Morgana said needlessly, as if they hadn't been talking in circles about _something's going on_ for the last half-hour. Perceval and Bohrs were moving through the building, securing a few more locations, while Geraint was somewhere on the other end of the office, making himself one with the curtains.

"Morgana," Arthur began, cradling his sister's elbow and forcibly escorting her to the ridiculous glass _thing_ she called a desk. "There's no reason for the Colonel to have gone external to verify the servers or the network. There's no reason why we're relying on someone not familiar with our databases to check that they're not compromised. So why has the Colonel signed off -- no, never mind that -- why has he called in, of his own accord, one of our subcontractors to paw through our directories, to check for viruses from the hack attempt and to repair the files that were corrupted in the crash?"

"You tell me," Morgana snapped, wrenching her arm away. Somehow, by some miracle of tightrope walking, she managed not to fall off those stiletto heels or break her ankle in the process. "He said it was your idea --"

"And I already told you that it was so far from being my idea, it's on the other side of the fucking galaxy, yeah? Look, you're head of PR, you've got access to his dairy and his contacts. Find out who he's been meeting in the last week -- the last month if you have to. Anyone who's out of the ordinary, that we don't normally deal with --" Arthur herded Morgana around her desk until the back of her thighs hit the seat of her chair, and she sat down heavily. "And you're going to do it from here."

"His office --"

"From _here_ , Morgana, and I don't want to hear any bloody arguments. It's a fucking nightmare out there without worrying about you too," Arthur said. He snapped his fingers at Geraint. "You shoot her if she even thinks of leaving."

"Arm or leg?" Geraint asked mildly.

"Between the eyes if you have to," Arthur said, and Morgana's hiss was outraged. Arthur stepped into her space, leaning down over her. "I mean it, Morgana. Listen to me for once."

Morgana pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowed, and the delicate arch of her brows nearly met in the middle of her brow. Surely by now, Arthur had convinced his sister that their largely technologically-inept father wouldn't have thought of getting an external computer audit without some sort of encouragement, especially considering his track record of _hiring_ everyone that the company needed, in whatever capacity, as long as it remained in-house, but it didn't seem to sink through Morgana's stubborn skull until now.

"Diary and contacts and meetings. Anything else?"

"Don't be obvious about it," Arthur said, gentling his voice. He only belatedly realized that he'd _just hung up on Merlin_ and that he was likely to have to pay for that later, just like he was going to have to pay for having taken _that_ tone with Morgana more than once in their conversation.

"Who are you talking to?" Morgana said sweetly, and for a brief nanosecond, Arthur wondered if she'd been eavesdropping on his conversation with Merlin. But then again, he had spent years wondering why Olaf hadn't tried to recruit Morgana into Her Majesty's Secret Service, the mystery solved only once Arthur asked Olaf. Olaf had said:

_"Good God, Arthur. Morgana as a spy? Are you mad? We'd never be entirely certain whose side she was on --"_

Idly, Arthur wondered what would happen if he took Morgana and Merlin -- one notorious for her ability to root out secrets and manipulate people into bending to her will, the other famous (in select circles) for holding onto secrets even better than most worldwide spy agencies.

Surely the enemy would fly the white flag in capitulation almost immediately, and this whole mess would be over in an instant.

"My evil, conniving sister, who I trust over anyone else," Arthur said, and some of Morgana's aggravation ebbed away. "Next to my team and Merlin."

Morgana made a small disapproving moue at having been demoted down the list, but she smirked. "How is Merlin? Still stuck at home?"

" _Uther_ ," Arthur emphasized. "You nose around the Colonel's affairs, not mine."

Morgana rolled her eyes. Arthur straightened and headed out of her office.

"Leon, you're with me." 

They were down the hall, the reception area before the elevators deserted of even the executive level receptionist, when Arthur quietly informed him of Morgause's phone call.

"What do you want me to do?" Leon asked. He didn't like leaving Morgana, but she was as safe with Geraint as she was with anyone, and if all else failed, that glass desk of hers was made out of bulletproof material, and Arthur knew of at least three of her hidden cache of weapons -- a cache that probably could arm the rebellion of a small country. If she hadn't decided that running through the mud at boot camp would have ruined her nails, she probably would have been a General by now.

"We've dealt with Lightforce before, we have most of their tech photos and IDs scanned in the system. They'll have signed in; use the security footage to compare against known IDs to screen them out. I don't think Morgause's boy is on Lightforce's payroll, but let's narrow it down and get the photos out to Bayard. The sooner we get intel --"

"The sooner we know what we're in for," Leon finished. He clasped Arthur's shoulder. "Leave it to me. I'll send -- do you want Perce or Bohrs?"

"Perce," Arthur said without hesitation. Bohrs still got a little jittery around magic, and if there was any magic involved, he wanted Perceval's steady, unflappable presence nearby.

"I'll send him up. You'll be in your office, yeah?"

Arthur nodded curtly, and waited until Leon had stepped into the elevator, the doors shut, before stalking to his office and slamming the door behind him.

No matter which way Arthur looked at it, he couldn't see Uther betraying the company -- not the company that he built up with his own bare hands, that he'd defended against hostile takeovers, that was the vanguard of the weapons manufacturing industry and in high demand with military units worldwide. It might be the result of some sort of magical influence. Uther would never normally approve full clearance to an outside group without having consulted with the department heads -- with _Arthur_ , for God's sake. Someone from the NWO must have gotten to him, casting some sort of mind-control spell on Uther.

Arthur shuddered inwardly. He still remembered when it had happened to _him_ , and he hadn't liked it one bit.

He sat down heavily. He couldn't see Morgause having any direct or indirect contact with the Colonel. They didn't run in the same circles. On the other hand, Morgause _had_ shown up at the Louvre, fooling everyone with her airs, and had nearly walked away with Morgana in tow. Arthur wouldn't underestimate her, and that meant not putting anything past her, either.

At the same time, though, it smelled like a setup. Olaf's urgency to get Arthur out of the building on the pretence of lunch had the undertone of alarm bells beside it. Maybe Morgause believed that she was the mastermind of this particular endeavour, and maybe she had been -- at least for the initial attack -- but she couldn't have anticipated that the Colonel would open the doors for external assistance.

Arthur tried to connect the dots, but he was missing something. His cell phone was in his hand, and he was thumbing Olaf's number from memory, before he realized what he was doing.

He listened to it ring. And ring and ring. It didn't even go to voice mail. The line kept ringing.

Arthur hung up.

Thirty seconds later a text message came through to his phone without the caller ID.

_Lunch?_

Arthur shut his eyes tight and rubbed the throbbing vein over his eye. He rang Olaf's number again. He let it ring eighteen times and hung up before it reached twenty, and called again.

A second text message buzzed in. 

_LUNCH._

Arthur called again and let it ring. There was a knock on the door and Perceval stuck his head in. Arthur waved him inside, and Perceval took a seat by the door.

This time when Arthur waited thirty seconds, his finger hovering over the redial, his phone vibrated with an incoming call. Like the text messages, there was no caller ID.

"Yes?"

"Are you being dense?"

"I don't have time for lunch, Olaf. Spell it out for me."

"Over the phone?" Olaf asked, scandalized.

"It's over the phone now or at lunch on some other day when it's too late." Arthur checked his watch. "In fact, I think it's already too late."

"Damn it," Olaf said, and hung up.

Arthur stared at his phone for several long minutes as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. He considered calling Major Kilgarrah to confirm, but for some reason, the Dragon never answered Arthur's calls. Only Merlin's.

It didn't matter. It made sense.

Bayard was behind this.

Arthur tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk until Perceval's eyebrow rose; Arthur stopped and reached for his phone. "Pellinor. Grab Lamorak. One of you get in a car. I'm going to need you to follow someone."

Pellinor didn't hesitate -- and probably didn't blink at the order, either. "Who?"

"Stand by for further instructions," Arthur said, and hung up after he heard Pellinor's grunt of assent. He rose at the same time, pocketing his phone, and nodded at Perceval. "Let's go keep an eye on the intruders."

They walked through the building purposefully, people getting out of their way as they barrelled past. Perceval took Arthur on a tour of all the areas that were being examined right now, and he immediately _did not like the situation_ because the team of IT experts were split into four groups with every sign of splitting into even more. It was going to be difficult to keep an eye on all of them -- not because they didn't have the personnel, but because the majority of the personnel wouldn't know a byte from a desktop icon, never mind be able to tell if the IT technician was downloading the otherwise-secure Pendragon database onto a portable hard drive. Arthur hoped that Merlin's hack would be able to flag anything out of the ordinary despite all the other programs that would be running.

He mentally counted down all the building systems that were tied into the computer network. The ventilation, the access codes, passwords, division directories, research database, archival database, the on-line warehouse network, the armoury, the…

Security.

Arthur caught Bohrs by the arm just as the man was emerging from the security department and pulled him in close. "If there's so much as a flicker in any of the security feeds, I want to know where and when."

Bohrs nodded and did a 180 on his heel, heading back the way he came.

Arthur and Perceval went from room to room, breathing down IT technician necks in the hopes of rattling one enough that they would reveal themselves, but none of them so much as blinked. A hazard of their trade was always having someone breathing down their necks, whether they were clients, colleagues or managers. Arthur asked random people questions about the work they were doing, and they all responded in such technical jargon that he wished that Merlin was here to translate it into plain English. 

Even Perceval's eyes glazed over more than once.

Any faint hope that Arthur might have had of sniffing out Morgause's plant by appearances alone was foiled, because the IT experts were of every body shape and size and gender, all of them approaching their work with the appearance of professionalism but which was no doubt a single-minded stubbornness to root out bad coding.

Arthur suppressed the urge to call Merlin and to ask, _Anything?_ , knowing that Merlin would contact him the instant that he had any information. He resisted finding Leon to see if there was any progress on weeding out and identifying the members of the IT teams. He grit his teeth in the hopes that Morgana would be able to confirm that Bayard was behind all this, even though the knowledge would amount to virtually nothing except a lot of useless yelling over the phone, asking why Excalibur hadn't been informed of this tactical approach.

He already knew Bayard's answer would be a deflective, "We didn't know if they would take the bait."

Well, Arthur's response to that would be a useless, "And at what point would you let us know if they did?" because, if Olaf already knew what was going on, Bayard did, too. And if Olaf knew, there were even odds that MI5 or MI6 both knew as well, and that they were mounting an immediate operation to surround and stop any theft of information that could arm either home-grown or foreign terrorists.

Arthur tried not to think about it too much. His job right now involved getting Morgause's man out of the way without notice, which meant that the technician didn't think he could grab the information he wanted without tripping certain alarm bells, and there _would_ be notice. It grated at him that he would be essentially handing over decades of research and schematics and patents and prototypes to the enemy, but he reassured himself that he wasn't giving up his family's legacy quite that easily.

Thank God for Merlin.

Nearly an hour later, three things happened all at once:

Bohrs texted that the surveillance cameras flickered and went dark all on one floor, and when security called -- _bloody well called_ , instead of marching their lazy arses up the stairs to see for themselves -- the IT person who answered the phone said that they found a virus on one of the security modules and that they were cycling through a scrubber. The security cameras would be offline for an hour or so --

 _Need vis check_ , Arthur texted back.

 _Already on the way_ , Bohrs replied.

Leon found them in the corridor, his cell phone in hand, his expression grim; but before he could say anything, Morgana called and announced without any sort of preamble, "Do you know that it would be easier to tell you who he didn't meet with in the last month? It's a much shorter list."

"Last seventy-six hours," Arthur bit out, looking at the cell phone that Leon was holding up, flipping through the facial recognition software. 

"I'm looking at the books now," Morgana said, and Arthur memorized the names and faces that Leon was showing him. "There's nobody out of the ordinary. But I pulled his phone records --"

Arthur rolled his eyes, wondering how Morgana even got authorization to do that, never mind the know-how, but he didn't want to know, never mind ask.

"Nothing on his business line, I'm loading his cell phone history now, and, well… that explains why he has a big long distance phone bill at home, I think --"

Leon bounced on one foot to the other. "Morgana, call me when you have something _useful_."

He hung up and gestured for Leon to go ahead. "No matches from MI-5, Olaf's not answering his phone, MI-6 is going to take a goat's age, and Bayard's out on some sort of a mission."

"Did they say where?"

"No, and they were right patronizing about it, too," Leon said, scowling. "Twenty-two new faces we can't ID. Is Merlin --"

"Busy," Arthur said, and he answered his buzzing phone with annoyance. "Morgana, you had better be holding a smoking gun right now, because I don't have the time for this --"

"I think if Morgana's holding a smoking gun, I should send an ambulance your way," Merlin said. He didn't give Arthur a chance to respond, and continued, "A multi-phase virus is uploading on your systems right now to cover up the download. I've detected a lights-out on one floor, a camera shut-down on another. You're going to be getting a flood warning in the basement level, the sprinklers will go off on the executive floor, several conflicting PA announcements, four floors with the A/C on full blast and the heat at Sahara levels in three more. The grand finale is the fire alarm and evacuation alert. It's on count-down. Fifty-six minutes from now."

"Goddamn it," Arthur swore. He started moving, Perceval and Leon on his heels, with every intention of heading up to the level where the security cameras had gone out. There couldn't be any other spot where the hacker would be downloading the data and simultaneously preserve anonymity. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the UP button.

"You're going the wrong way," Merlin said.

"What?" Arthur looked around, wondering how the bloody hell Merlin could know that, when he remembered that there were security cameras everywhere in the building, including the elevators.

"Sixth floor. The camera blackout is a decoy." Arthur shook his head and pushed the button for the sixth floor, and entered a code to prioritize his floor. Merlin continued, "He's set an automatic download from one of the admin desks on the sixth floor, but it won't finish for an hour and five minutes. It's encrypting on the go, but he's not going to notice the time difference it takes for the encrypt. Unless you want me to slow the download down?"

"No, don't make him suspicious," Arthur said. "You have eyes on him?"

"Sending it to your phones now," Merlin said. Arthur glanced at his phone just as Leon and Perceval pulled out theirs. The image was a screenshot from an earlier time stamp; Merlin must have rewound the security footage to find a good image.

Morgause's plant was a nondescript man with brown hair and an unshaven cheek wearing a green polo shirt with the collar upturned and beige slacks. He wore a watch and carried a cell phone; there was a laptop tucked under his arm. If Arthur didn't know better -- if Merlin hadn't flagged him -- Arthur would never have picked him as a potential enemy. That was the trouble with hackers -- all their work was done behind a computer monitor, and it could be _anyone_ , even this man who looked no different than the other IT experts who had been brought in.

Leon immediately scrolled through the other images on his phone. 

"Speaking of not making him suspicious, what do you think you're doing, storming into admin?" Merlin asked. The elevator doors opened; the gaggle of people waiting to step out for their lunch break parted like the proverbial Red Sea when they recognized Arthur. 

Arthur didn't answer until they were out in the open, every possible eavesdropper gone. Perceval scanned the area, making sure it was clear. Leon glanced at Arthur and shook his head, because he didn't find the man on Lightforce's employee list -- he must have simply waltzed in.

As furious as Arthur was over this whole mess, he had to admire the man's balls. It wasn't everyone who could meander in the wake of approved personnel and somehow still make it inside. There was a security breakdown at the front end, and there would be hell to pay.

Later. 

First, Arthur had to get the situation under control -- or at least as under control as it would get considering the circumstances. Arthur might be allowing the data to leave the property to appease Morgause, but Merlin's encryption would ensure that the information remained under Arthur's control. However much that Morgause thought she was in charge, she had another thing coming.

He quickly sorted a list in his head of all the known factors.

Bayard had influenced Uther into allowing an outside group to investigate and audit the network for a security breach that would have had the government watchdogs up in arms if there hadn't been a failsafe built into the system to enact a complete shutdown -- a shutdown that collapsed the system and left them limping along until it could be properly restored. Considering the timing, Bayard couldn't simply _hope_ that the NWO would have someone in Lightforce to do the work, but he must suspect that the NWO had contacts or sympathizers in the upper echelons who would contact them.

Arthur needed to have a long talk with the Colonel about his willingness to go along with Bayard's ill-conceived plans, but that would be later, much later, when this situation had long blown over.

The intruder was already on the site and had not only implemented sufficient distraction for an escape, he had timed it so that it would occur just as most of the personnel at Pendragon Consulting were returning from their lunch breaks, keeping out the rabble and giving him some extra time to confirm the data he'd stolen and to secure an escape route. The fire alarm would keep everyone out and send anyone who remained away from the building. The building would be empty for several long minutes until the fire brigade arrived on the site to inspect the alarms.

What did he need Arthur for?

"Arthur? Are you there? Wait, what am I saying. Of course you're there. I can see you. You're just blindly staring off into space the way you do when you're trying to figure something out. Well, have you figured it out yet? Because the man's rooted through the desk drawers and is helping himself to someone's biscuits. That's a hanging offence right there," Merlin said.

"Merlin," Arthur said, keeping his tone even, his voice as measured as he could. "If it's going to take him over an hour to download the database, why does he have the fire alarm going off before that? He won't have time to find me to help him get out. Hell, he won't even need me to help him get out --"

Arthur trailed off and nodded at the intern walking past. The intern smiled shyly at him, but hurried around the corner as if she were about to have a heart attack. He wondered just how much damage control he was going to have to put in place once his mission was over, because his undercover role had painted him into a villain. 

"I don't know. Is your security as tight as it is here at the lab? Checks bags and everything? You have some sort of lockdown protocol where they check every device to make sure you're not walking off with a thumb drive up your arse with confidential information?"

 _Goddamn it,_ Arthur mouthed.

"I heard that. I might not be able to read lips, but I heard that," Merlin said, sounding momentarily smug before dismayed. "He's going to have you walk it out. No way that security's going to search the boss' son."

Merlin must have his phone on speaker, because Arthur heard Gwaine say, "No way anyone's going to search _Arthur_ or anyone related to Arthur, including you. Helen might have followed the playbook, but she wasn't going to push to see what was inside your bags."

"He's going to have me walk it out," Arthur repeated glumly, snapping his phone shut and exhaling a breath that sounded like the gnash of a metal saw catching on a nail even to his own ears. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, nodded to himself. If there was any way to incriminate Arthur, to make certain that she had something to hold over his head to ensure good behaviour, Morgause was going to ensure he did it. 

His phone buzzed in his hand. 

_Dont wrry. Footage is so deleted._

Arthur smiled, glanced in the general direction of the security camera, and nodded. He turned to Leon. "Make sure Pellinor and Lamorak got this picture. Send it on to Bayard and Olaf. Don't hold your breath that this face is going to give us any hits, so find out what name security signed him in under."

"And how he got through?"

"We'll worry about that later. Be subtle. Right now we don't know this guy exists." 

Leon nodded and left. Arthur traded a glance with Perceval and walked into the administration area. There were a line of offices with glass doors on one side, a prairie dog field of cubicles on the other -- a few heads popped up when they heard the door open and shut -- and enough people to justify Arthur being there. He stopped in for a chat with Elise, the department head, wandered down the queue of offices to see who was still working and who had buggered off for lunch, and checked in on the two IT techs who were working at one of the open terminals.

There was no sign of the hacker.

_2nd to last cbcle your 4_

Arthur put his phone away and resisted the urge to turn around to look at the cameras and scowl. Instead, he leaned over the tech's shoulder and asked, "What are you working on now?"

Behind him, Perceval mumbled, "I can't believe you asked that."

Arthur ignored him.

"I'm, ah. I'm just doing this thing to defragment the servers that have already been cleared," the man said.

"Why not do that from the server room?"

The IT person gave him an odd look, and said, "Well, either because all the terminals in there are taken by our senior guys who are doing structural integrity tests, or because your rugby team of security guards kicked us out. Pick one, they're both equally valid."

"Right," Arthur said, pretending that he hadn't heard anything that he man said. He reached over and tapped the screen. "And what does this mean?"

The IT guy turned away. "It'll all be in our report."

"But what is it? It's red. Doesn't that mean there's a problem? I need to get on this, make sure that it doesn't happen again --"

"Look, it'll be all in our report. Don't you have anything that you need to be doing?"

"No, actually," Arthur said, but he left the man alone after four more questions with similar non-answers. He didn't bother to make the rounds of the cubicles, and he didn't have to, not with Merlin's running commentary.

_wht a fckng perv hes dwnldng bestiality pr0n_

The video feed that Merlin was mirroring to his phone -- Arthur most definitely did not want to know how Merlin did these things -- showed the man twirling his chair from side to side, beating a drumbeat on the plastic arms of the chair. The empty bag of crisps was crumpled on the desk, and the angle was wrong to see what was on the monitor, but whatever it was, it had the man's complete attention.

 _28% completed_ , Merlin texted.

Arthur spent the rest of the countdown staring at his computer clock while Perceval paced the length of Arthur's office in boredom. He sent Leon to Morgana with instructions to leave the building _now_ , and to go for a late lunch somewhere expensive and frivolous where she wouldn't be out in the open when the timer ran down. He jockeyed instructions between Pellinor and Lamorak, who were poised to follow Morgause's plant the instant he got up and walked out of the building. He texted Bohrs with orders to keep an eye on the Colonel, because even though Uther had his own legion of bodyguards, there was no guarantee that any of them, his father included, would fathom the danger that came with leaving under a false alarm and milling around in the open, staring gap-mouthed at the building as if it would burst into flames, and transform into a mountain of ashes if they blinked.

Any of them could be kidnapped. They could be shot by sniper fire. They could be knifed up close and personal.

It was a numbers game, and Arthur wanted to make certain everyone in his family was safe.

Arthur didn't even react when the fire alarm went off. Perceval barely glanced up from his newspaper. Outside his office, there was the usual bustle as people abandoned ship in various degrees of urgency and desperation, though Arthur had the impression that the vast majority really did hope that the building would burn to the ground, so that they could have a few free days off without having to dip into their vacation package or worry about docked pay.

Merlin's text came in a few minutes later, and amounted to, _100% hes verifng_

Arthur stood up with a nod to Perceval. He didn't know how Morgause's man was going to pass anything on to him, and he had made it as easy as possible, but there hadn't been any communication. If Morgause wanted to bitch, then Morgause _could_ bitch, but Arthur wasn't going to bend over backwards and hold his arse cheeks wide open to take it.

They headed down the emergency staircase, helping a few people whose chests were heaving for breath and trembling from exertion. One of the older men muttered, "Why are there so many stairs?"

"Because the transporter's out of commission," Arthur said, the Star Trek reference flying over the man's head, and Arthur shook his head with annoyance. More gruffly, he said, "Never mind. Get going."

These particular emergency stairs led them to the lobby, where a security station had been set up to check everyone's ID -- or at least note down people's names -- to make sure that everyone got out, while simultaneously making certain that no one was using the opportunity provided by the distraction to make off with some of Pendragon's technology. There were similar stations around the building, at every fire exit, and they would stay in position until the fire department arrived and told them to clear out.

Arthur went through the security spotcheck without so much as a cursory glance. They didn't even check him the way they checked Perceval, which only affirmed both his and Merlin's earlier suspicion that the NWO was going to use Arthur as a pack mule.

At least he wouldn't have to swallow an USB secured in a condom wrapper, or stick it up his arse.

_left pkg on mail cart and is lvng bldg now_

That explained how Arthur was supposed to actually get the pirated database in the first place.

 _upgrd cameras for better zoom cant tell who its for_ , Merlin texted. Arthur could hear his complaints loud and clear.

Arthur stood on the sidewalk on the very limits of the safe zone that had been established through many, many fire drills over the years, half-listening to the grumbling mutter of the staff complaining that they were just about to go on their lunch hour, they'd just come back from their lunch hour and if only they'd known they would've taken an extra long lunch, this was Lightforce's fault just like it was their fault that the lights went out in their department, why it was cold as the fucking Arctic in the cafeteria, and why the sprinklers had gone off while they had their trousers around their ankles while sitting on the loo.

Sitting on the loo. Right.

Arthur glanced in the direction of the person who had said that and raised a pointed eyebrow; the slightest eye contact made the man shut up and turn beet red.

One day, the staff at the company would realize that Arthur really did know everything that went on, even from half a world away ducking enemy fire. It wasn't strictly true, but when Uther retired -- if the Colonel ever would retire -- Pendragon Consulting would be his, and there was no harm in planting terrorizing seeds now.

Arthur could only hope that in the end, there was _still_ a company. He stuffed his fists in his trouser pockets, and tried not to grit his teeth too much at the knowledge that he would be walking the keys to his kingdom out of those doors later on, only to hand it to the enemy.

_Hes at security theyre checkng hm hes clr theyre wlkng hm out nw_

Arthur put his cell phone away, grateful for Merlin's play-by-play. He stared at the front entrance of the building, watching the sunlight flash and flare in the reflection of the glass as the doors opened and shut. The hacker walked casually toward the crowd, cool-as-he-pleased, shrugging his shoulders when someone approached him and chastised him.

The hacker lingered for several minutes before slowly working his way through the crowd, using the distraction of the fire brigade to drift and disappear.

A new text came in from Pellinor. 

_We have eyes on him._

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Merlin paced the length of the living room, drifted into the kitchen, and walked all the way back. Kay got out of his way without a word, but Gwaine was on the snappish side, worrying as much as Merlin was for Arthur, except they weren't only worried about Arthur. Perceval was with him.

Not that Gwaine would admit the reason why he was on edge, or either of them would even talk about it, because they were _worried_ , and neither Arthur nor Perceval had called in.

The mess with the fire alarm at Pendragon HQ didn't get cleared up for several hours -- and it was several hours of sorting out missing people and quelling _we were so close to getting sent home_ chatter that had driven Arthur up the wall, if his text messages had been anything to go by. It had taken far too long for Arthur's liking for the mailroom guy to come around to deliver the package that Morgause's hacker had left for him on some random cart --

 _rly who does that_ , Arthur had texted in annoyance, right before he'd asked Merlin to track down its location so that he could retrieve it himself. Merlin had refused, of course, because, what if the mailroom boy was working for Morgause, and none of them knew it? Better to be safe than sorry.

\-- and Arthur, once he had his grubby little hands on the hard drive, had been forced to wait until after regular closing time, because the note that had been hastily scribbled and tucked inside the envelope had been very clear in its instruction:

_Stay put and wait for my call._

The call had come in sometime around 1800 hours, but Merlin hadn't programmed Arthur's phone to ghost every phone call, only the ones from Morgause and Bryn and Tristan, so he didn't know what it entailed until Arthur summarized the conversation in three text messages:

_Hnd-delivrng to the prick at 2000 hrs @ dive in Cmden_

_Tld hm whre to stick it_

_Said I do ths, or NWO bmbs HQ hve O chk threat_

While Owain and Bedivere headed over to Pendragon Consulting to do a top-to-bottom sweep for explosives -- Owain borrowed a sniffer dog from one of his copper friends under the pretence of being too afraid to go running by himself in the dark -- Merlin ran through every single bit of footage that he could remotely access from the flat and running an algorithm to detect people in otherwise less-well traveled areas to try and narrow down the locations where a bomb could be easily hidden. And, for fun, he appropriated Arthur's laptop, too, and wrote a quick program to perform calculations on the building stats to determine the most probable location for the most blast damage.

The algorithm, the video surveillance, and the calculations took time, so, with one eye glued on the split-screen multiple-feed monitor, Merlin texted Arthur and said, 

_Add explsve sniffer to survllance upgrade_.

Lamorak and Pellinor were on the hacker's trail, up until they called in three hours after they'd left to say that they had "lost the little bugger somewhere between the train station and the entrance to Hogwarts" -- which had started a whole argument about it not even having been the right station in the first place, and, anyway, one got to Hogwarts by _train_ , not a train station, at which point Kay had muttered something about splitting hairs, and Gwaine had been ready to murder someone on the grounds that there had better not be a _real_ Hogwarts, or he was going to be put out.

Arthur redirected Lamorak and Pellinor to Camden, where they were to stakeout the location until the appointed time. A quick scout in was all they needed to know that the hacker wasn't at the club. They reported in when Arthur and Perceval arrived. The hacker still hadn't showed.

Arthur and Perceval never emerged. When Lamorak went in for a second look around, Arthur and Perceval were nowhere to be seen.

That was more than four hours ago, it was well past midnight now, and Arthur hadn't responded to any of the text messages that Merlin sent. And he'd sent a lot of them.

There was no word from Perceval, either.

He'd tracked down the GPS on Arthur's phone easily enough -- they had moved seven blocks away. Lamorak and Pellinor moved to the general vicinity of the GPS, but couldn't get a visual on them. Without more information, they were at a standstill. Leon had given the order to wait, to give Arthur time to work, and, logically, Merlin knew that Leon had a point, because this wasn't like their usual active mission in a warzone. It was undercover work, and any one of them could be out of touch with the others for any length of time.

Knowing that, remembering that, only made Merlin think guiltily of Will, who had called at frequent but random intervals since the cage match, to try to get Merlin to "forgive him."

"It's Will --"

Merlin had hung up.

"Don't hang up --"

Merlin had hung up.

"It weren't my idea --"

Merlin had hung up.

Merlin knew that whatever Will said, it was more for the benefit of whoever was nearby, listening in on his one-sided conversation, but he'd wished -- he still wished -- that they could have a real talk, maybe even meet up again. For now, Merlin had to take what he could get, and the frequent phone calls were at least a reassuring reminder that Will was still alive.

The only reassurance that Merlin had that Arthur was still alive was the connection between them. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his side, touching the tattoo that linked them.

He was worried, though less worried than he should be, and he couldn't tell the others that Arthur was all right without telling them how he knew that everything was fine. So far.

Merlin paced some more.

"You're wearing a groove through the floor, mate," Kay said, his voice soft.

"Do we look like we give a shit?" Gwaine snapped.

Merlin ignored them both and continued to pace. Bohrs, sensing disaster in the making, slowly got up from the couch and went down the hall in search of the relative safety of his bedroom. They were _all_ worried, Merlin knew, from Merlin and Gwaine to Bohrs and Kay and Leon and Lance and everyone down the line, even Pellinor and Lamorak who called in to say that they still hadn't seen any sign of Arthur or Perceval.

Even Morgana was concerned. She had called Merlin twice until Merlin told her, rather curtly, that every time she called, he thought it was Arthur, and he'd already nearly killed himself to get to the house line more than once, and if she kept calling, he was going to be very cross with her.

Actually, his exact words had been on the order of, "I'm never going shopping with you ever again," which he hadn't known would have that much of an effect on Morgana until she stopped calling. She sent emails every five minutes, though.

Merlin was on the apex of his pacing route when his cell rang. He stopped in mid-stride, whirled around, and finished it with a lunge for his phone seconds before Gwaine latched his grubby fingers on it.

"I'm at a pay phone," Arthur said, as much in warning as in reassurance, but there was a hint to his voice that Merlin couldn't fathom. "Perceval's with me. Tell Kay to pick us up at this address."

Merlin jotted down the information at the same time that he said, "Oh, thank _fuck_ \--"

But Arthur wasn't done. "You are not coming with him. Gwaine is not coming with him. Only Kay. Tell him to come with the sweepers. We will be at the address for thirty minutes, at which point we will move. Do you understand me?"

"Y- yeah," Merlin said, and he stared at his cell phone a little dumbly when the connection broke. Had Arthur hung up on him _again_? He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

He turned to the others, holding the piece of paper with the address in his hand. Gwaine stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows raised in a _well, get on with it and tell us already or I will pull it out of you with rusty pliers_ glare. Bohrs had aborted his retreat to the back of the house and the safety of his bedroom to linger in the corridor, his body still but tense and ready for action. Kay was the only one moving; he stood up and approached Merlin slowly, making sure Merlin didn't spook.

"He's fine. _They're_ fine," Merlin said, glancing at Gwaine. Gwaine closed his eyes in a sigh of relief an nodded to himself. "Kay's supposed to bring the sniffers with him when he goes to pick them up. Now. Here's the address, if anyone asks, but he's going to be at location two in half an hour."

Arthur would never reveal his position or make himself into a sitting duck by announcing that he would be at a given meet point for a given amount of time. The message Arthur had given Merlin was coded; he and Perceval were already on the move, heading directly to a second pick-up point.

"Okay," Kay said, glancing at the scrap of paper. Gwaine unfolded his arms and picked up his coat from the armchair where it had been draped ever since they'd realized they'd lost contact with Arthur and Perceval.

"He said you're supposed to go alone," Merlin said, and there was no hiding how much that hurt. "Gwaine and I are under house arrest. I think he's being watched."

"Okay," Kay said again, as if that didn't surprise him in the least. Gwaine's sharp inhalation, on the other hand, was thunderous, and he stormed through the living room, past Bohrs, disappearing down the hall. 

Merlin stood stock-still, frozen, before something clicked in his head that should have earlier, and he went to his laptop, hacking the cellular network to track Arthur's phone GPS. He compared the numbers with the ones belonging to the call from the hard line and scowled.

The phone and Arthur's physical locations were in completely different areas of London.

When Gwaine returned, Kay had retrieved his own gear, including the bag of sniffers that Arthur had requested, and was almost out the door when Gwaine grabbed Kay's arm.

"I'm coming with you," Gwaine said.

"Not in my car, you're not," Kay said, shouldering his bag and shrugging off his grasp. 

"You can't go without backup," Gwaine said. "Just let me off a few blocks away, no one will ever know. I'll go high, take a cab back --"

"Arthur's orders were clear," Merlin said grimly. "We're supposed to stay here --"

"You're bloody mad if you think I'm going to stay here! For that matter, why are _you_ keen on not going after them?"

Merlin stepped into Gwaine's space. Gwaine might be broader and heavier, but Merlin was taller, and he never used his height to his advantage before. Gwaine's protests stuttered to a halt. "Because Arthur is our Captain. He's given us an order. You want to ignore it and throw everything we've worked for in the crapper? What we want to do -- it doesn't matter. Arthur knows what he's doing. Trust him."

"I don't like it!" Gwaine snapped.

"You think I do?" Merlin retorted. They stared at each other for a long moment; Gwaine's hackles drooped. "The NWO's involved, they're both without their phones, probably their guns, too? They can't even take a cab back, they need a pickup? And why is he asking for Kay instead of either of us? Because he doesn't need anyone watching to get more information on us. What's it going to look like if I show up to pick him up? Or you? We're on a fucking mission, Gwaine. I know you're worried about them. We all are, but Arthur's in charge, he's given orders, and we're going to bloody well _follow_ them."

Gwaine stared at Merlin. Merlin stared back. Bohrs found some reason to go check the house security. Kay checked the straps on his bag and ran the zipper of his jacket up and down to make sure it worked.

"Sit down and shut up," Merlin said, raising a hand to stop Gwaine when he finally had the mind to open his mouth with a new protest. Merlin wasn't in the mood for this; he didn't know how Arthur handled Gwaine on a mission-to-mission basis. Gwaine had the experience, he knew how it worked, but this irrational fear that took him over whenever a teammate was out of sight for too long? Merlin would find out what was behind this at one point or another, but right now, Gwaine's fear was freaking Merlin the fuck out, and he needed a clear head right now. Merlin turned around and pointed at Kay. "And you, hold on a second."

Merlin went to the kitchen, looking for an object -- any object -- that would suit, and settled for a dirty spoon from the kitchen sink. He closed his eyes in concentration, collecting his magic, and incanted.

The spoon glowed a bright neon green before dulling to its usual stainless steel lustre. He handed it to Kay.

"Here. Make each of them hold it for thirty seconds. If they're under the influence of you-know-what --"

"You can say it," Kay said encouragingly. "Magic. It's all right, it won't hurt you if you say it --"

Gwaine's snort was strangled, trying to suppress an anxious amusement. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"-- it'll glow red. When you see the green, you'll know it's clear. Put it on their phones, too, on the car. If anything goes red, secure and abandon it, I'll look at it later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kay said, holding the spoon gingerly between his forefinger and thumb. "You couldn't have used a clean spoon?"

"No, the spell needs something tainted," Merlin said with as straight a face as he could manage. The truth was, he'd made up the spell on the spot, drawing from half-remembered memories of the castings he had studied when they were training at the Directory. He had been the only one who had the background to understand the whole hocus-pocus angle of the NWO and the expertise to identify the NWO spells so that the team could mount a counterattack; Merlin didn't think that the Directory had meant for Merlin to get more use out of his studies than he had. Kay raised a dubious eyebrow.

"It's got Bohrs' spit on this --"

"For fuck's sake. You've had your hands in someone's guts. Don't be bloody squeamish --"

"I'm not --"

"Don't you have somewhere to be right now?" Merlin snapped. He wasn't a leader, he knew it -- he was happy to leave the whole bossing-people-around business to Arthur, because at least people listened to Arthur instead of arguing with him. "If you don't start moving right now, I'm going to zap you in the bollocks until you do."

Kay smirked, touched two fingers -- the one not holding onto the spoon -- to his forehead in mock salute, and left.

"Great," Gwaine said, breaking the silence that stretched after the front door opened and closed. They heard the car pull out of the drive and screech away before Gwaine continued. "Now we have to sit here with our twiddling thumbs up our arses and _wait some more_."

"Yeah," Merlin said, but he was already moving to his little workshop -- the one that Arthur had long given up hope for use as a dining table. He pulled out his usual chair and sat down heavily, running his hands through his hair in barely-disguised frustration before reaching for his laptop and pulling it closer.

The mechadragon made a chur-chur-churring sound before taking a death-defying leap from the top of the bookcase across the room, gliding to the table. It landed gracefully, and Merlin tried to ignore the sound of the mechadragon's claws scratching the once-polished surface.

He'd buy Arthur a new table when this was all over -- something that wasn't distressed with toolmarks, scratched up from equipment scrapes, stained with gun oil and scorched by Merlin's wayward solder. He wanted the mission to be over now, even if it meant that the team would spend the rest of their enlistment -- a few more months -- running combat missions. The stress of being undercover was starting to show. Not just with Arthur, who had to balance the risk to his company with the mission, with Merlin, who had to keep too many things secret to protect not only himself, but Arthur and the rest of Excalibur, but with the rest of the team, too.

Perceval was quieter than normal these days; Gwaine was on a paranoid edge. Kay was detached and Bohrs was either too much into it or not enough. Leon and Lance had both admitted that they didn't sleep well, and it was no wonder why. After what happened to Morgana in Paris, how long would it be before they went after Gwen? Kay's sister? Geraint's parents?

Merlin rubbed his face and forced himself to focus. 

It took him some time and too much effort to gain access to the satellite feeds over London without tripping any alarms. He entered the coordinates of Arthur's and Perceval's last known location and zoomed in over the area they were supposed to meet Kay, and zoomed it to nearly street level. Gwaine stopped being a snarly wag when he realized what Merlin was doing and pulled out a chair to sit next to him.

Merlin worked out a way to improve his laptop's rendering capacity when it took nearly thirty seconds for the image to render into something other than a blob of disorienting pixels.

Somewhere behind them, Bohrs said, "Bohrs, why don't you do another round of the house, make sure everything's secure?"

"Why, that's an excellent idea," Bohrs answered himself in falsetto, "I wouldn't have thought of that. Do you think maybe I should take one of the others with me just in case?"

"Nah, they look really busy, you're probably better off if you do your walkabout armed to the teeth. In fact, it might even be better if you do it alone, because maybe you'll get jumped by the enemy, and you can turn the tables on them. Imagine how amazed everyone will be when you solve this whole fucked-up situation and save the day!"

"Self, that's awesome, I'll get on that right now," Bohrs said, his voice high-pitched and excited. He clapped his hands together.

Merlin exchanged glances with Gwaine and they both looked over their shoulders. "I think he's losing it," Merlin whispered.

"Let's not catch his attention. He might be violent," Gwaine said.

Bohrs dropped his hands and gave them a rude two-fingered gesture. "Fuck you. I might not be sleeping with them, but they're my friends, too. Don't you think I don't give a shite?"

"No one's stopping you from pulling up a chair," Merlin said, crossing his arms on the table to keep from fiddling and fine-tuning the satellite image. He forced himself to watch and wait, but the satellite image was blotchy despite the rendering, and turning on the infrared to overcome the dark would only make things worse.

He was only dimly aware of a second chair scraping over until it was close and of Bohrs sitting down next to him.

"Is that them?" Gwaine asked, pointing at the screen.

"No," Bohrs said. "What about that?"

"No, I don't think that, wait, that's a lamppost, you numpty," Gwaine said.

Merlin tuned them out and stared unblinking at the screen. Every minute, it refreshed and re-rendered for clarity. It was like watching a flipbook of drawings, but in super-slow motion, the cars on one end of the screen for one, in the middle for another, and zooming off screen on the third. The few pedestrians who were in the area at this time of night were meandering arm-in-arm; it was a public enough location with sufficient traffic that Arthur and Perceval would be safe walking along the sidewalk.

Merlin doubted that Arthur would do that. He didn't think that they would even see Arthur and Perceval on the satellite feed. At best, they would spot Kay pulling up at the designated location, and in-between the downloads from the snapshots, Arthur and Perceval would have gotten into the car, and in the next shot, they would see the car pulling away with its passengers secured.

When the car pulled up, it went exactly as Merlin predicted. He ignored Bohrs' jostling for a rewind, or a different screen capture. He ignored Gwaine's desperate gasp -- "We don't even know if they're hurt --" and stood up so abruptly that the chair knocked to the ground behind him.

"Just wait, okay? Fucking hell, Gwaine, this isn't our first go at this --"

"It's our first go when they're _ours_ ," Gwaine said, putting to voice what Merlin had been ignoring all along.

And he couldn't take it. He went up the stairs to wait. He slammed the door behind him, and it was in the quiet of the room, a room that was filled with everything _Arthur_ , that the knot in Merlin's chest eased and he was finally able to take a breath. 

It was strangled and choked, but it was a breath.

Merlin glanced at his watch. He didn't need to be psychic to know what the next steps would be -- it would start with retrieval. Arthur and Perceval and Kay would head first to where their cell phones were located, and they would run a check with the sweepers -- both the electronic sweepers to check for tracking devices and Merlin's magic spoon of magic detection -- and if their phones were clear, they would disable them by turning them off and removing the batteries.

Merlin would be checking them to make sure that they hadn't been tampered with. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't have been in some way or another, and rather than to be safer than sorry, Arthur would be getting a new phone while Merlin disabled whatever had been installed and applied countermeasures. If all else failed, they would be able to track them back to the source.

After the cell phones were collected, they'd head over to pick up the car. They'd repeat the process with the sweepers and the spoon -- something that would no doubt take longer because a car was much larger than a phone. And, since a car was much bigger, they would be running a second set of checks on the car to make sure it hadn't been tampered with mechanically -- the brake lines, the engine, the electronics. They'd look for bombs, they'd look for trackers, they'd do their best to make certain that all of the original equipment was still original. 

If there was the slightest bit of doubt, Arthur would be abandoning the car.

It had taken Kay a half hour to reach his destination and to pick up his precious cargo. It would take him at least another half hour to get to the phones and the car, assuming they made no stops. It would take at least an hour before they finished their cursory checks. Arthur would be using Kay's cell phone to check in with Leon and coordinate any of the team's activities in the meantime.

But for Merlin and Gwaine and Bohrs, it was a waiting game. It would take at least a couple of hours before they even started on the road back to the flat.

Merlin paced. He kicked a sock out of his way. He found a coin that Arthur must have dropped, and put it on the dresser. He went to the bathroom and straightened up from that morning. He washed his hands, then his face, and decided that, if he was here already, he might as well brush his teeth.

He brushed his teeth. He went for a piss. 

His chest felt tight, so he went into the bedroom and resumed pacing.

There was one of Arthur's shirts on the floor. Merlin picked it up, shook it out, folded it before realizing that it was the shirt that Arthur had worn _that_ night, and he felt his eyes sting. 

Merlin sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, the shirt in his hands. He watched the fabric unfurl. He found a grass stain that made him chuckle, but the knot never quite left his chest. It was like trying to breath with only half a lung.

He heard the sound of a door opening and shut downstairs. He bolted upright, his heart pounding, his breath coming into anxious gasps, and he almost lunged for the door until the voices drifting up the stairs identified the new arrivals as Leon and Morgana.

Morgana must have bullied her way past the Eyes Only and Need To Know that was stamped all over this mission, because she wouldn't be here with Leon otherwise.

That, and Merlin had probably missed too many of her emails.

Merlin licked dry lips and shook his head. He had to get a grip. He had to hold himself together. Arthur would be the first one to lecture him -- they were on a mission, they had to keep a clear head, they had to have their wits about them. They couldn't let themselves be distracted if one or the other were injured. They had to make sure that the rest of the team was safe. They had to make sure that the mission was completed. Arthur might even say that he had known that their getting together was a mistake, that they should have waited until the mission was over, they could have taken different undercover roles. Well, it was too late now, and Merlin didn't have any regrets. He didn't want to give Arthur any reason to have any regrets.

It was no different now than it had been when they were only SAS officers in the field.

Merlin ignored the voice in his head telling him that _yes it was different_ , and fought to detach himself of all the emotions that were raging in his head right now. The strain of being apart, the worry, the fear.

He touched his side again. He closed his eyes. He imagined the connection of his tattoo to Arthur's, and followed it all the way to the other end. He felt Arthur alive and healthy and strong.

Merlin took a deep breath as the knot in his chest loosened. He stood up and dropped Arthur's shirt on the bed. He nodded to himself.

Leon might be Arthur's second-in-command, but if Gwaine's and Bohrs' reactions were any indication, if the way Morgana had been calling him and emailing him constantly was any sign, the team saw Merlin as an extension of Arthur.

And vice versa.

They needed Merlin to not freak out. And here he was, trying very hard not to.

He steeled himself and went downstairs.

Morgana had taken over the kitchen; she was rattling through the cupboards, taking out random boxes and containers and pots and pans when Merlin walked by. Leon was pacing the same path that Merlin had been pacing not that long ago, a phone against his ear. He looked up and nodded at Merlin and mouthed, _he's fine_ , and Merlin nodded and mouthed back, _I know._

And he did know. He knew it better than anyone else. That was why he shouldn't be freaking out. That was why he shouldn't have freaked out _at all_.

Leon put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. He muffled the voice pick-up of his cell phone and gestured toward Morgana. " _Please_ convince her."

Merlin smirked. He glanced at Morgana and decided that it would probably be safer to wait until she finished brandishing that knife.

Bohrs was at the front of the house, keeping an eye out the window. There was no sign of Gwaine. Leon was listening to something over the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Where's Gwaine?" he asked.

Leon pointed to the patio doors.

Merlin spotted Gwaine slumped on the bench tucked just out of everyone's line of sight, even without the spell that Merlin had cast to keep the patio activity completely invisible and undetectable. It was an instinctive habit that Gwaine had, to survey his surroundings and to crouch down in the one place where he was untouchable. It was also the one place where no one would see him coming from.

Gwaine glanced over at the sound of the doors sliding open and shut. He sat up straighter and averted his head. 

In the light that was reflected from the city, Merlin could make out the strain in Gwaine's expression, the taut line of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw. He was clasping and unclasping his hands together like he didn't know what he wanted to do with them.

Merlin sat down next to him. After a long, stretched silence, he said, "Sorry."

"No," Gwaine said, shaking his head. "Forget it. I was the one losing it. I'm still losing it."

"I am, too," Merlin said. 

Gwaine's chuckle was a sharp bark. "Not half as. You've got your shite together --"

"Didn't you see me texting Arthur? Trying to call him?"

Gwaine didn't answer. When he spoke again, it was to shake his head and say, "I couldn't even text Perce. I was shaking too bad."

Merlin had noticed how Gwaine's normally steady hands could barely grasp his phone. "You freaked out that other night, too, to hear Kay tell it."

"You went radio silence," Gwaine said instead of confirming, but the accusation was confirmation enough. "We're on a fucking mission with nutters on our arses. You're not supposed to go radio silence."

Merlin didn't answer. He ran his hand over his mouth and swallowed the defensive hostility that threatened to come out, and instead tried to see it from Gwaine's point of view, but he couldn't. He didn't know what was going on in Gwaine's head, not like the other members of the team who seemed to understand what was going on with him. Instead, he asked softly, "What happened, Gwaine?"

"Back that night?" Gwaine snorted. "I should be asking you that. Fuck it -- I _have_ been asking --"

"I'm not talking about me and Arthur. I'm not talking about last night," Merlin said. "I mean, what happened to _you_? What's going on with you?"

Gwaine looked away.

Merlin pressed on. "You're not like this in the desert. You're the steadiest one of us out there. Always hitting your mark, always there when you're supposed to be, always getting our backs. You don't blink when we're out of sight on missions, or when we go radio dark. But Arthur and me? We take off for a bit of wind-down before Arthur kills us all with an overdose of PT, and you crack like a dropped egg. And it's not just last night. You've got an edge when we go to the clubs, when we're out of the house, when we have to go to the dog-and-pony show to keep up the act, when we're split up."

Gwaine took a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky huff. He shook his head and stared down at his hands.

"Gwaine, I gotta know what's going on with you. I don't know how to help if I don't know."

"It's fine --"

"Bollocks."

"There's nothing wrong --"

"Bollocks."

"I'll get it together, don't worry --"

"Bollocks." Merlin elbowed Gwaine hard in the ribs. "Now you quit this shite, yeah? Just shut it and tell me."

Gwaine leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together, as if trying to scratch off any dirt that had crusted in the creases and lines of his hands.

"Is it you and Perce?" Merlin asked.

Gwaine turned his head slightly. "What about me and Perce?"

Merlin hesitated before saying, "You've never been with anyone in a steady relationship since Arthur. Is it wigging you out? You're worrying about him when he's not around?"

"Do you worry about Arthur when he's out there?" Gwaine retorted.

"Yeah. 'Course I do. But I trust him to know that I'll kill him if he doesn't come home," Merlin said.

Gwaine sighed. "Yeah, not many people would tangle with Perce, I guess."

"Sooner tangle with a grizzly bear," Merlin said with a snort. 

Gwaine half-chuckled. After what seemed like far too long, he straightened and sat back, his shoulder brushing against Merlin's. Merlin followed Gwaine's gaze and looked up at the stars -- what few of them they could see through the thick cloud cover and the light pollution drowning them out.

They didn't say anything for a long time. Neither of them moved. And, finally, it was Gwaine who broke the silence.

"Before Excalibur... Before Arthur pulled us all together, before anyone even realized how good I was -- I was in another unit, yeah? Just regular infantry, no special badges, not even a sniper gun. Just a bunch of ground-pounders and cannon fodder under a semi-decent captain who knew what he was doing -- up until he didn't. It wasn't his fault. The comms went out in the middle of a bombardment, took out our radio guy. He was fine, the shrapnel shredded his Box, though, and he'd have been better off shouting for HQ's next orders instead of trying to stick it all together, to get it working, you know?"

Merlin nodded, and suppressed the chill that ran down his spine. The parallels between Merlin's last active mission before he was pulled to Wales for training duty while recuperating and this mission that Gwaine was telling him about, they were too close for comfort. When Gwaine didn't continue his story right away, Merlin prompted with a soft, "Yeah, I've been there."

"It wouldn't have been so bad if we were out in the open. I could keep a scope on everyone. The team stays together or at least in line of sight, but…" Gwaine trailed off and shook his head, staring down at his hands again. "We were in a city. A piece of shite completely run down city with one well and buildings with three-quarters of a solid wall, with the off-side a sheet of whatever got patched together. Everything from parachute silk to some poor arsehole's Kevlar, even army greens and country flags spray painted with skulls and crossbones in some real fucking obscene Jolly Rogers, and every bare square of fabric has a squiggle or another in Arabic praising Allah or Mohammed and to hell with the white devils."

Gwaine fell silent again; he closed his eyes. Merlin waited and waited, and it wasn't until he glanced sidelong that he noticed that Gwaine's steady hands were shaking.

"It was there we got pinned down. There's my Captain doing his usual General Akbar imitation -- you know the one, _It's a trap!_ , except he wasn't kidding, not one bloody bit, and I fucking wish he were, I still do, all these years later, because anytime we're stuck in a city, I've got his voice ringing in my ears." Gwaine paused, licking dry lips. "There's me wanting to go high to keep an eye on everyone, and the Cap didn't want me anywhere up there and then he didn't have a choice because all the other guys got shot, and he's hoarse from shouting orders that the fucking enemy could hear and anticipate, because no matter what we did…"

Gwaine wrung his hands together like a dishtowel, tearing apart every single stray strand. 

"I lost them, all right? I lost them. I blinked, they turned a corner, I jumped a rooftop, and the fucking roof gave under me. I brush myself off, get to my feet, the floor creaks and gives and the last thing I see before I drop down another level is this woman all swathed up in a purple cloth, holding a baby close to her chest, the both of them staring at me wide-eyed like they couldn't figure out if I'd fallen from Heaven or if the building had sunk to Hell. By the time I got back up there, by the time I found them, half my team was fucking dead and the other half were on their knees with their hands laced behind their heads, and these fucking _kids_ \--"

Gwaine's voice broke, shaky and uneven.

"-- fucking kids maybe a year or two younger than I were back then, they've got guns on my Cap and a couple of the seniors and some of the other greenies, and…" Gwaine leaned forward, rubbing his face in his hands. When he dropped them, he turned to look at Merlin, shifting his body so that he was facing him and couldn't look away, his expression a _please understand_ plead that broke Merlin's heart. "I got two shots in with a piece of shite semiauto that had a donkey's dick in range before it jammed. I was too far away for the handgun, but fuck if I didn't give it a try anyway. I guess I was enough of a distraction that the Cap reacted and so did the other guys, but the greenies didn't move and they were dead an eyeblink later, and it were a quarter of us who walked out of that city, flagging down a Blackhawk full of Americans who were diverted over our way because our Brass asked nicely. They secured the city while I sat on my fucking arse trying not to shake, trying to hold it together, because everyone was trying like fuck to hold it together, because we could've all _died_.

"I signed up for sniper training the next day," Gwaine said. He paused. "I weren't… I wasn't going to get caught like that again, bare-arse naked and folded over a fucking table, holding my cheeks open and begging, _oh please may I_."

He looked down at his hands. Merlin looked, too. Gwaine's fingers were curled as if he were trying to hold on to something. Even in the city-lit darkness, Merlin could see the scars -- burn scars from hot muzzles and shrapnel and metal boiled by the desert sun, and he wondered how many of those were scars because of what happened that day when Gwaine had lost sight of his team.

"It's not you and Arthur going off. It's not the mission. It's fucking _London_. This fucking city. There's too many places to hide and not enough of us. If I lose sight of any of you, that's it, we're done, I'm never going to find you again, I won't have that luck until it's too late, and after I hunt all the fuckers down, I'm turning my gun on me, because there's no way I can live without the rest of you, I can't --"

Gwaine's eyes glistened in the dark. He sniffled. His lips pressed together tightly as if he would be damned if he'd be caught crying, and here he was, crying like a wanker anyway.

Merlin pulled him in for a rough hug. Gwaine resisted for less than a fraction of a second before collapsing against Merlin, his forehead on Merlin's shoulder, his hands in fists full of Merlin's shirt. His body shook and trembled only once, maybe twice, and after several long minutes, his body concussed from some sort of shock, and he pulled away, giving Merlin a crooked grin.

"If I knew all I needed to do to get close enough to grope were to pour my bleeding heart out --"

"Oh, shut up, you bloody plonker, and give me your fucking phone," Merlin said, holding out his hand.

"My phone?"

"You'll get it back in the morning, yeah? And I'll show you how to use the GPS to track any of us down, all right?"

Gwaine stared at Merlin's hand for a long moment before fishing his cell phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. He didn't let go right away. "What if they toss their phones like they did with Arthur and Perce?"

"Then trust that I can find them, yeah?" Merlin knew the team like they were extensions of his own body; he didn't doubt that he could find them, even if they weren't already wearing the necklaces that he'd strengthened and bolstered with his own magic.

Gwaine let go of the phone, but after a moment, his voice as fragile as crystal, asked, "And what if we lose you?"

Merlin didn't have an answer for him. Instead, he put on his most cocksure smile and said, "Come on, what are you talking about? That's never going to happen, mate."

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Their phones were bugged, of course. So was the car. They disassembled the phones and took out the batteries and left the car locked up in what they hoped was an area that didn't invite carjacking. Arthur used Kay's phone to call the Directory to request that they keep an eye on the area in case someone from the NWO decided to add more extras to the already tricked-out car. He figured they might as well get some use out of the lazy fucks by having the Directory grunts _do_ something useful for a change.

Then they went home. Except for the news radio mumbling on in the background, the drive was silent.

There were several reasons why Arthur had requested Kay and not Bohrs, and definitely not Merlin or Gwaine. If they were keeping up the pretence of their undercover identities, then Merlin was the very last person that Arthur would have pick them up. Arthur had deliberately not asked for Gwaine because Gwaine was a nosy fucker and sometimes oblivious to when Arthur wasn't in the mood to talk; Bohrs was even worse sometimes, and Arthur wasn't interested in finding out if Bohrs could rein it in or not.

As the only other person living at the flat, Kay was the last one on the list -- or rather, the first. Kay would know to pick up and shut up, because, of anyone, Kay understood when Arthur wanted space to think.

Perceval was just as pissed as Arthur, and other than a few curt grunts, he was as quiet as Arthur. It wasn't until they turned onto their street that Arthur saw the line of tension ease from between Perceval's shoulders.

Arthur wished he could let go of his frustrations as easily.

All he wanted to do was get into his flat, brief the team, and take Merlin to bed. He wanted to reassure Merlin that he was all right -- he had not missed the nearly two-dozen texts that Merlin had sent -- in every way possible.

Kay pulled into the drive, turned off the ignition, and was out of the car in a flash; Perceval was a little slower, favouring his left leg. Arthur stepped out, took a long look around, his eyes narrowing when he saw Leon's car by the side of the road.

Arthur had long expected that they would reach a point where he would need to read Morgana and Gwen into their mission, security clearances be damned. He wouldn't be surprised if Leon had caved in and told Morgana what was happening -- everything except for the magical aspect, which the team had agreed had to be kept secret until it was completely unavoidable -- but why did she have to demand to know everything _now_?

He did not want to talk to her. He didn't even want to see her. He already knew that she would yell at him for risking his life, but he was used to that by now; what he was not ready to deal with, was how she would tear him a new, uncomfortable opening for handing over the family business' bread and butter to a rival. 

The NWO might be behind the theft but their target was likely far more specific than the database that they'd downloaded. They probably didn't care about market projections or even marketing strategies; never mind the tender bids that they were putting together for new government contracts. The hacker would have had an easier and faster time of copying only the data that they needed. Cenred King was no doubt bankrolling this operation, and had already laid claim to everything that the NWO didn't need for themselves.

That meant that if Morgana was astute enough to notice that Leon was in commanding mode for the evening, she would have asked where Arthur was and harangued Leon until Leon told her everything, right down to how Arthur had walked out of Pendragon Consulting with the database tucked under his armpit with every intention of delivering it straight into the hands of the enemy. She would have figured out that one of their competition -- if not King himself -- was behind it, or at least connected to the theft, even if Leon had been careful and hadn't mentioned any names.

God knew that if Morgana got her hands on evidence, there would be no stopping her rampage. Arthur did not need more complications than they already had, and he resigned himself to talking to Morgana after all, if only to shut her up and to play along. If she went public with this --

Arthur didn't want to think about it.

Kay took up the rear -- Arthur caught him eyeing Perceval's limp with a raised brow, and nodded when Kay mouthed, "Lance?" -- and dialled a number, lingering outside until he completed his call. 

They were greeted with complete silence. Arthur saw Merlin, as if he was physically incapable of noticing the fine details of who else was in the room without first finding Merlin. There had been tension in his expression, Arthur noted, but it was quickly dissipating; his features softened with relief, but he didn't step forward. Arthur didn't know if he was grateful that Merlin didn't react or disappointed; was his expression that foreboding that even Merlin didn't want to approach him?

Gwaine was beside Merlin, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders nearly up to his ears. He was relieved, too, Arthur noted; Arthur glanced questioningly at Merlin, who shook his head in an _I'll tell you later_ gesture, and assumed that if it could wait, then it could wait, and Gwaine had been calmed down, somehow. As soon as Perceval's limp became more noticeable, though, Gwaine's hackles went up, and he wordlessly helped Perceval to the couch.

Perceval's leg was propped on the new coffee table, pillow under his heel.

"Cut the pant leg open. Get him some ice," Arthur said.

"Arthur. I said I was fine," Perceval said, his voice strained.

"Let's make sure," Kay said. Kay walked over, knife in hand liberated from a sheath _somewhere_ on his body. He pinched the pant leg in his fingers and sliced a neat cut all the way down to the ankle cuff. "Lance is on the way. He'd bring Gwen, but she's fast asleep."

"Galahad's with her?"

"Yes," Kay said. He dropped the edges of the ragged cut and winced audibly. "Jesus, Perce. What did they do?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Kay," Morgana said sweetly, but Arthur knew that tone of voice -- it was her honeyed _you bastard, I'm going to kill you, but whether or not I drag it out or make it quick is going to depend on how you answer me_ tone, and Arthur glanced heavenward before looking pointedly at Leon.

Leon shrugged.

"Just… what did _you_ do, Arthur?" Morgana asked, the edge almost as sharp as one of Kay's knives.

"Following orders," Arthur said, glancing toward Merlin for reassurance. Merlin must have read his mind -- he hoped to _God_ that Merlin could read his mind, because he really needed to hear it from Merlin, again, that he hadn't handed over his family's legacy to someone who could destroy them -- because Merlin nodded at his unspoken question.

"Whose orders?" Morgana asked. Arthur noticed how she stayed behind the kitchen island; he wasn't sure if she was staying there because she didn't want to hurt him, or if she was staying there because she was afraid he might hurt her. Either way --

Arthur shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it on a chair.

"Arthur, I asked you a question," Morgana said, her voice dropping a cold octave.

He jabbed a finger in her direction. "And you already know the answer to that, don't you? Because you know who called the Colonel and told him to open the barn doors to an external company to run an audit on our security systems. You know who, so don't waste my goddamn time."

"Uncle Sol wouldn't --"

"Wouldn't he?" Arthur snapped. "Wouldn't he? You know what he's like, all those fucking cloak and dagger games he runs. How he was only ever at our house when he needed something from Father -- and you, little Miss 007, you know that as well as I do. Better. You're the one who hid in the filing cabinet, recording their conversation --"

"They never knew I was there," Morgana said.

"The filing cabinet? Really?" Leon asked.

"Shut up," Morgana said, and Leon raised his hands in the air. He headed over to the couch with a few ice packs for Perceval's leg. Arthur heard him whistle in _I'm impressed but that's got to fucking hurt_ sympathy. "Are you seriously telling me Uncle Sol --"

"Uncle Sol's trying to get me killed? Yes. Uncle Sol's trying to run our company to the ground? Yes. Uncle Sol has an ulterior motive? Most definitely. Uncle Sol's operating on some high-level tangled-web chess game to track down the enemy? Who the fuck knows, and whatever the fuck you think you know, Morgana, you don't know anything, okay? Do you understand me?"

"Arthur, don't be a fucking arse. I can't believe you agreed to this -- I don't care what Uncle Sol has on Uther, he's not holding anything over your head. How could you --"

"Leon, you told her, right?"

"I told her," Leon said.

"And she understood?"

"I'm not a bloody idiot!" Morgana's volume nearly cracked the windows.

"She understood," Leon said, glancing sidelong in Morgana's direction. He immediately ducked his head, not wanting to get between the two of them. 

Arthur turned to bear down on Morgana; Morgana drifted further behind the kitchen island, fully intending on keeping it between them. "So if you understood what Leon was telling you, Morgana, you also understood one very important and extremely salient point -- and that point is, no one told you a thing, and you don't know anything about what's going on. Nothing. This is way, way, way above your pay grade, and I don't care what kind of security clearance you think you have, _it's not nearly enough_ for this."

Morgana paled.

"You don't get to yell at me. You don't get to ask me questions. You don't get to boss me around, do you --" Arthur faltered to a stop when Merlin's warm weight pressed against his side, a hand on the small of his back. He bit back every single thing he had been about to say and chewed the inside of his cheek until all he could feel with his tongue was torn and mangled. He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and shook his head. He stared at a spot on the island where someone hadn't wiped up coffee stains, and forced the tension in his shoulders to ease. 

It was in a much softer, much quieter tone of voice when he spoke again, "Don't you think I know what I've done, Morgana? That the _Colonel_ doesn't know what he's done? He's trusting me to make sure I keep the company safe, that I'll get it back, that we'll nail these bastards to the wall with everything we've got. Don't you think I'm under enough fucking pressure without you coming right at me?"

"You should've trusted me," Morgana said, her voice steady, and it shamed Arthur that he could see the faintest tremble of her fingers. "You could've told me. We could've stopped this, we could've given them a dummy database --"

"Don't you think I thought of that? There was no _time_ to set it up. The hacker would've seen right through it, he would've known what it was and we would've been in the shite. And even if we managed to fool them, the people we're hunting down, they would've checked it and known it was wrong, and we would've lost them, Morgana --"

"Then why are you _here_? Why aren't you out there, following them so that you know where it ends up so that you can get it back?"

 _Because we didn't have any backup. We didn't have our phones. We didn't have our guns. Because they got the fucking better of us, and we lost them, and we don't know where the fuck they are,_ Arthur thought, and he was screaming in his head in frustration. No one ever got the better of him. No one. And it didn't help matters at all that he knew that it would happen, that he should have been prepared for it. 

They had gotten one up on him.

"Because he's trusting me," Merlin said, his voice quiet in the pause. "I encrypted the database, Morgana. They won't be able to open any of the files without the key, and there's no way that they're going to crack it."

"And why should we trust you?" Morgana snapped. "You're new to the team. What if you're working for them? What if this was a big con game all along? We know, Merlin. We _know_ King tried to recruit you out of uni -- what if he did recruit you? What if you're working for him? You are, aren't you --"

Merlin let out a little, pained huff of breath, as if he'd taken a blow to the chest hard enough to crush his ribcage. His hand grasped the back of Arthur's shirt, and he reeled, rocking on his heels.

Arthur hated his sister a whole lot right now. He reached to grab Merlin, his arm snaking around Merlin's waist, before Merlin could stagger away.

"Fucking hell, Morgana," Leon shouted, storming over from the living room area, blowing past Arthur and Merlin and rounding the island. He crowded into Morgana's space, pulling her into his arms. "Shut up. Just shut up, okay? I know you're upset, I know it's a lot to take in, but you're not doing anyone any favours right now. Let's just sit down and listen to what happened, yeah?"

"Not if he's here! I don't know him, I don't trust him --"

"Morgana! You stupid bint! If I have to slap you, I will --" Gwaine shouted, joining them in the kitchen.

"Gwaine --" Perceval called out, but stopped with a groan.

"That's fucking _it_ , Morgana --" Leon said.

And then Morgana said something that was so high-pitched that it was a shriek that only dogs could hear, and that was saying something about his team if they all wrenched away, hands over their ears. Leon got the worst of it.

"You're not running the show --"

Merlin pulled out of Arthur's grasp before he could finish what he was about to say, and took three quick steps out of Arthur's reach. Merlin held out his hands, palms out, and forced a quick uneasy smile that was made all the weaker by the way he had turned so pale that his skin was almost translucent. "I'll just -- I'll go upstairs, all right? You can tell me what happened later --"

Arthur had long ago learned to keep a tight rein on his temper, because terrible things often happened when he went on a rampage -- worse even than when Morgana decided to leave a pile of bodies in her wake merely because she was displeased for not getting her way. He'd held it together over the last several hours, but now, he'd had quite enough.

" _Stuff_ it! All of you!" 

Arthur glared at everyone in the room. His teammates met his eyes and immediately looked down at the ground. Leon raised his eyebrows at Morgana as if _willing_ for her to shut up and calm down for once. The only one who made eye contact and kept it was Merlin, but he crossed his arms close to his chest, as if bracing for a blow -- and if that wasn't bad enough, he still looked hurt from where Morgana had kicked him in the proverbial bollocks.

He looked around at everyone a second time, leaving Morgana for last. He stared at her knowing that she wouldn't break first, but he stared at her long enough that she started to squirm.

"There's something that you need to say to Merlin. You have sixty seconds to say it. If it's the wrong thing, I'm going to walk you to the front porch and I'm going to leave you there. Then I'm going to call good old Uncle Sol and I'm going to call The Colonel, and I'm going to tell them both how you're threatening the mission because you're freaking the fuck out, and you won't calm the fuck down."

"Arthur --"

Arthur raised a silencing finger in Merlin's direction. "Morgana, your sixty seconds start now."

He glanced at his watch.

Morgana looked at Leon, but Leon held up his hands and took a step back. Morgana's eyes narrowed in something that might imply a warning, but Leon was unfazed and unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest. Leon, who rarely stood against Morgana except when she crossed the line, was standing his ground. Even Morgana couldn't miss the implications of that.

Morgana rolled her eyes and turned to Merlin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Merlin nodded and looked away. He didn't uncross his arms. "It's all right."

"No. It's not all right," Arthur said. "Because this is Morgana playing a fucking game. And the name of the game is Morgana's not in charge, and since she's not in charge and she's never been in charge, she's throwing a temper tantrum and blaming everyone else for what was right under her fucking nose all along. Isn't that right, Morgana? You found something and you're pissed that you never noticed, so you're taking it out on us? On Merlin?"

Morgana pressed her lips together and raised her chin defiantly.

Arthur took a step closer to the island. "So what was it that you found out, Morgana? Was it that the only way someone could've broken into the database in the first place to bring it down was if someone had passed them an expired set of access codes?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin. No one would have figured that out if Merlin hadn't dug deep down in the debris that was left behind from the original hack. Arthur had gone to deliver the hard drive knowing this piece of information and wishing that he was hunting down the insider instead.

"Was it that the Colonel's been having more and more communications with certain departments, and ignoring others?" Arthur had figured that one out on his own, and the way that Morgana's eyes widened only confirmed the fact. "Was it that he's been leaving behind his PA and his bodyguards for off-site meetings?"

Arthur had come to that conclusion himself, after he'd offered Uther the use of one of his own men for protection, only to be ungraciously turned down. The kicker had been the day when he saw that the Colonel's bodyguard had returned to the building without the Colonel.

"Is it that there's a high probability that we have members of the NWO on our payroll?" There couldn't possibly simply be one insider -- there had to be a whole slew of converts. And, of course, they weren't in positions where they could copy the database because they had restricted access, and simply didn't have the skills necessary to go in and retrieve the database on their own. No, there needed to be an elaborate setup in order to draw the NWO out of the woodworks, to get them to stop dragging their heels, to lure them into a trap.

He didn't mention how he suspected that there were members of the _Directory_ on Pendragon payroll, and if one didn't already grate on his nerves, the other definitely did.

"Is it that you've uncovered evidence that it was the Colonel who picked up the sheets with expired access codes and never returned them to the ES department? Is it that there's footage of the Colonel handing it over to some young punk? Is it that _Uncle Sol_ is the one who ordered the network crash in the first place?"

Morgana's eyes were round and outraged. "If you knew all this, why --"

"If I'd known all this I wouldn't have asked, Morgana. It came to me a couple of hours ago, right before someone nearly broke Perceval's leg with a steel bar and after I got thumped on the head with the business end of a gun."

No one said anything. Morgana's mouth dropped.

"Oh, shite," Merlin whispered, hoarse and hollow. He took a cautious step closer, pulling Arthur around to face him, his brows pinched in the middle of his forehead, his mouth tense, his eyes searching for the injury. He reached up to touch the side of Arthur's head, but Arthur took a step away.

He didn't get _thumped_ in the head. He got _shot_. It was a flesh wound at the temple right where his hair just hid the tear and burn where the bullet had sheared off the skin, and it had bled and bled the way head wounds always bled and bled. His dark coat had sopped all of it, and they'd paused somewhere safe to wash off the blood before they attracted the wrong kind of attention walking on the busy streets of London.

His head was pounding, he probably had a mild concussion, and the adrenaline that had been driving him up until this point was starting to ebb, and the strength that was pushing him on now was from a dark and ugly place.

Merlin dropped his hand, his eyes shadowed, and if Arthur hadn't been looking, he would have missed the murderous flash of gold in his eyes. There was no ignoring the way an invisible hand held Arthur firm where he stood, giving him no chance to escape or to knock Merlin aside, and Merlin took every advantage while Arthur tried not to flail and struggle and reveal to Morgana that magic was real and that Merlin was magic.

Arthur scowled at Merlin, but he suffered in silence while Merlin gently pushed aside his hair, finding the three-inch bullet slice. A muscle popped in Merlin's jaw and he didn't say anything; instead, he took a step back, and the furrow of his brow deepened. The magic relaxed around him, but Arthur could feel a faint tingle on his skin, protective and watchful.

"Arthur --"

"No, Morgana. If you open your mouth one more time, I'm going to tape it shut. I don't want to hear it. I don't want you to remind me that this is a fuck-up of phenomenal proportions on about eleven different levels and how, between Uncle Sol, the Colonel and me, we've just about _ruined_ the company. If you want in on this, you're going to trust me. You're going to listen to me. You're going to do what I say, just as if you were a member of my team."

He stared at his sister for a long time. She stared back. The silence stretched into something rubbery and uncomfortable, and no one moved, no one breathed. Not even the crickets chirped, and the city sounds, usually drifting into the house as easy as they please, shied away.

"You're going to fix this?"

" _We_ are going to fix this," Arthur said, raising his brows meaningfully at Morgana. He turned to look at all the members of his team who were in his flat right now, and his eyes settled on Merlin. "And _we_ are going to bury the fuckers."

Merlin nodded faintly, but it was Morgana who said, "All right. I'm in. But you keep me in the loop. You tell me _everything_ , you hear me?"

"Right now, I don't want to hear you at all, Morgana," Arthur said wearily. He turned to Leon. "Take her home. I want the whole team here in the morning -- that includes Gwen, because if Morgana's in on this, Gwen will never let us live it down if we don't include her. I'll tell you what happened and what we're going to do next once I fucking figure it out."

Arthur had managed to ignore the dull ache in his head thus far, but now he faltered and faded, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple.

"What are you waiting for? Go home."

He stayed where he was until he heard the front door open and shut, grateful that Morgana didn't argue. He stayed where he was when, a few minutes later, Kay let Lance in. He pointed in Perceval's direction. "Look after him."

"You weren't _hit_ on the head," Merlin said, his voice low, and the accusation in them was so gentle that Arthur felt guilty to have lied. Still, he didn't want Morgana to worry more than she already did, and from the tone of Merlin's words, he understood that. "You were shot. Let Lance look at you."

"Perce first," Arthur insisted. "I'm going to wash up."

He headed up the stairs without another word, his steps sure and strong until he reached the very top, when his legs waffled under him. Merlin steadied him from behind -- Arthur bit back a snarl to _leave him alone_ \-- and helped him into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"It's a flesh wound. I've lost some blood. My head hurts. I'm not dead," Arthur snapped.

"Thank _fuck_ for that," Merlin said, crossing his arms.

Arthur raised his chin, struggling for a retort, but it died on his lips when he saw Merlin's expression, how tired he looked, how frayed at the edges. Arthur thought how he would react if the situation was reversed, if it was Merlin who was out of radio contact, if it was Merlin who had gotten shot in the head and who _would have died_ if his reflexes hadn't been as highly trained as Arthur could make them.

He knew he would be just as tense, just as angry, just as concerned as Merlin was now. Except he would be shouting and yelling and barking orders, because shouting and yelling and barking orders made him feel _better_ , as if he were in charge again, in control. Merlin didn't do any of those things. It wasn't in Merlin's nature to do any of those things. Instead, he stood close to the door, his expression wavering between wary and anxious, his arms hugging himself close to his chest, his fingers gripping into his arms.

Arthur had to remember that Merlin didn't only have to deal with the evening's events, but with Morgana's accusation, and _fuck_ if Arthur hadn't been about to wrap his hands around Morgana's throat for even suggesting that Merlin wasn't with them, that Merlin wasn't completely and entirely on their side. Arthur didn't have the faintest doubt of Merlin's loyalty. He'd felt Merlin's shock as sure as if it were his own. He'd seen Merlin retreat back into his shell of uncertainty, where he'd stood for so long in the shadows, never entirely sure if he was one of the team when the team had never been in doubt at all.

And in the end, this was _Merlin_ , his Merlin, who had taken over Arthur's thoughts in that moment when he'd been on his knees with the barrel of the gun against his temple, filling him with fearful adrenaline that he'd never see Merlin before he died.

Arthur dropped his arms. He exhaled a heavy breath. The tension knotting his shoulders snapped like a bowstring pulled too tight, like a puppeteer had cut his strings.

Merlin lunged at him then, arms reaching out to catch him, but it was Arthur who caught him instead. He pulled him close, wrapped his arms around Merlin's neck, and held on, a shaky sigh shuddering its way through his body to think that he could have lost this, that he came so close to never having this again. Merlin's arms were tight around Arthur's waist, his hands firm against his back, and Merlin was shivering, too, as if he was thinking the exact same thing as Arthur.

"I knew you were all right. I knew," Merlin whispered. "I could feel you. I kept reaching out for you. To make sure."

Arthur shut his eyes tightly, guarding against the sting of tears. Neither of them moved. Finally, Arthur relaxed and turned his head into the crook of Merlin's neck, and pressed soft kisses there. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's all right. It couldn't be helped. The mission and all," Merlin said, his voice thick.

Arthur could feel the pound of Merlin's heart through his chest. He could feel his own matching the rhythm.

"Morgana didn't mean it, you know," Arthur said, and when Merlin didn't answer him, he knew that Morgana's jab had cut deep. "She's a bloody cow."

"Don't," Merlin said. Arthur closed his eyes, feeling Merlin's lips against his ear, fluttering feather-light, like butterfly wings. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"It matters," Arthur whispered. His fingers dug into Merlin's shirt, stretching it. He lowered his head until his lips were flush with Merlin's shoulder, and he kissed the bare skin exposed there. "She's family."

Merlin pulled back a little, tilting his head until they were looking at each other again, and he said, a faint spark of amusement in his eyes, " _You're_ family. She's just a bloody cow."

Arthur snorted and chuckled, shaking his head in something of dismay, and he pulled Merlin close for a crushing kiss that made his head pound in something like crippling pain and his body ache from the debris of sheer adrenaline, but he didn't care. He was home, and Merlin was with him.

When he broke the kiss, he shook his head and whispered, "Some honeymoon we're having."

Merlin kissed him, lightly and gently, as if reassuring him, and pulled away. "You'll make it up to me."

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Lance cleared Arthur, and except for the tiny stitches holding the ragged edges of his injury shut and a few bruises here and there that Arthur hadn't even know he had, Arthur was none the worse for wear. Perceval's lower leg had swollen despite the ice that they'd been putting on, and as soon as Lance was done with Arthur, he took Perceval to the hospital for a scan.

"I don't think it is -- we've seen Perce kick his way through worse, but it might be broken," Lance said. Gwaine was already helping Perceval out the door using a pair of crutches that they'd found in Arthur's storeroom from back when Arthur had sprained his knee playing footie in uni. "He might be out of it even if it's not. At the very worse, it's a bone bruise."

"I can call Gaius," Merlin offered. "I think he still has some salve -- you know the sort, to draw…"

He trailed off.

"Salve? Really, Merlin? This isn't the Middle Ages," Lance said, and if Merlin didn't know from sharing a barracks with him, he would never have guessed that Lance was cranky when he was woken up in the middle of the night.

"Salve," Merlin said firmly. "The same salve that Gaius put on me when the doctors weren't looking to make sure I didn't _die_ when I got shot. I told you about it."

After Merlin had joined the team, Lance had been the first to spot the scars from the injury that had nearly taken Merlin out -- permanently. Of anyone else, Lance was the one who had immediately recognized not only the bullet wound, but the surgical scars, and had known how invasive the procedure was. The scars were thin lines on his chest, now, as if he hadn't had the surgery in the last few years, but more like a few decades ago. When Lance asked about it, Merlin had joked about a superior healing factor, but had later confided that his uncle had given him a herbal concoction to help the injury heal.

Lance grunted. "Yeah, all right. Call him."

Kay saw Lance to the door, locked up the house, and looked around. Arthur was in bed; Bohrs had pulled the early morning shift, and Kay would keep watch until then.

"We're short a couple of men," Kay said, absentmindedly checking the locks and latches on the doors and windows. "You're not going to wander off and do something stupid, are you?"

"No idea," Merlin said, leaning over the kitchen counter, rubbing his face. "Arthur's asleep, it's not like I can ask him who did it so that I can go and…"

He made a vague gesture in the air. Kay glanced in his direction and snorted. "But you want to."

"Too right I want to," Merlin said, dropping his hands. "The rest of you are just going to have to stand in line."

"Believe me, mate, I'm the last person who'll get in your way. You and Gwaine. While you were up there, Gwaine nearly had a meltdown when Perce wouldn't give up who'd done it."

The only saving grace was that Perceval wouldn't tell Gwaine who it was until Arthur had told the team the full story, and Merlin had a sinking feeling -- brought on by both the distant look in Perceval's eyes and the way Arthur wouldn't even look at Merlin when he asked -- that it might be Will.

Will.

 _Goddamn it._ Why did Will have to get involved in this? Odds were that Will had had no other choice, that if he wanted to prove to the NWO that he was on their side, then…

Merlin checked his own phone to see if Will had called him or texted him in an attempt to explain or apologize, but there was nothing.

Kay left the room to check the back doors and other entrances, and Merlin stayed where he was, studying the mess of disassembled telephones that Arthur and Perceval had brought back. He'd already removed the tracking devices and separated the independent power source -- if the NWO wanted to know where Arthur had gone, then, surprise, he'd gone home, but beyond that, the signal was going to be as dead as a doornail until Merlin could reprogram the signal to, oh, track the source, or possibly also transmit coordinates that were several kilometres from their actual location. There _were_ more tracking devices that Merlin needed in order to follow the signal back to their owners, and the rest of them could be used to fuck with the NWO.

And, goddamn hell, he fully intended to fuck with the NWO.

He picked at the parts idly and glanced over his shoulder to see if Kay was indeed gone before taking the pile over to his worktable. He sat down, grabbing a tiny screwdriver.

"Merlin?" 

The voice was so soft that Merlin almost missed it. He looked up and around and saw Arthur on the steps, shirtless, wearing long, loose plaid pyjama pants that hung deliciously low on his hips, showing every corded line of muscle and tendon in his upper body. Arthur looked tired, as well he should be, but there was something strange in his gaze, distant and needy and grasping and hopeful, and Merlin temporarily abandoned his plan to trace the tracker to its source _right damn now_ so that he could wander over and teach the NWO what it meant to fuck with someone in Excalibur, to mess with _his_ Arthur. Merlin rose with a scrape of his chair and caught up to Arthur on the steps, instinctively reaching to take Arthur's hand, squeezing his fingers.

Merlin followed Arthur up to their bedroom without needing to be asked.

"How are you feeling?" Merlin gestured toward his head.

"Painkillers kicked in a while ago," Arthur said, sliding under the covers. He didn't settle down until Merlin had stripped to his pants and joined him on the bed, where Arthur promptly rearranged Merlin to his satisfaction and turned off the bedside lamp. He heaved a heavy sigh against the back of Merlin's neck, and his arm tightened around Merlin's waist. "Everything else, though? Pissed. At everything."

Merlin thought there would be more, but Arthur didn't add anything else. He hadn't had any intention of falling asleep, but Arthur's slow breathing and steady heartbeat lulled him to a half doze. Arthur slid his leg between Merlin's, and there was a soft kiss under his ear.

"I shouldn't have done it," Arthur said. 

"Hm?"

"When they said to meet them, to leave everyone behind. I should've called back, called bollocks, said he'll meet me on my terms. Then Perce wouldn't be hurt and they wouldn't have the hard drive, and we wouldn't be neck-deep in this shite."

"Arthur." Merlin tried to twist around to see Arthur in the dark, but Arthur held him firm. "Look at the bright side."

"Having a hard time of that right now, Merlin," Arthur whispered.

"You made it back. Alive. That's what matters, right?"

Arthur was quiet for a long time before he made a small sound that Merlin successfully translated as _Yes, all right, fine, I will give you that._

"And besides, now they think you're not as infallible as you look, yeah?"

This time, the sound came with a sharp edge of _Thank you, Merlin, for reminding me of my giant cock-up._

"They'll underestimate you next time. Except you won't give them a next time, right? Promise me you won't," Merlin said.

Arthur's chest barrelled out full of air that he held in his lungs until it must have felt like it was burning and ready to burst, and an instant later, he released a long huff on Merlin's shoulder and a noise that skirted the edges of, _Too right there won't be a next time._

And then they were still, oh-so-very-still, neither of them moving except to breathe, for their hearts to pound. It was nice, comfortable, _perfect_ , the way it always was, one fitting firmly against the other with no space in between them, suffocating and reassuring at the same time. A heavy sigh blew feather-light on Merlin's skin, ruffling his hair, tickling his ear, and Arthur whispered, "I promise."

Merlin smiled, weakly, faintly, knowing that if Arthur didn't have any other choice, Arthur wouldn't keep that promise. He would do whatever he needed to do to make certain that the mission wasn't compromised, to return what belonged to him, to keep those he loved safe. Arthur would put himself on the line, and Merlin was damned if he was going to let Arthur take the fall for any of them.

In the distance, Merlin heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing; a moment later, the volume on the telly decreased until it was nothing but a faint murmur. 

"I'll find you, whatever happens," Merlin whispered in the dark, somehow remembering the conversation he had with Gwaine earlier, and needing to make a promise the way Arthur was making a promise. Except that he _would_ find Arthur. "I won't let you go. I'm always going to find you."

Arthur's arm tensed around Merlin's waist; Merlin ran his hand down Arthur's forearm until he could twine their fingers together. "How?"

"You have to ask?" Merlin said with a soft laugh. "After last night?"

"Can I?" Arthur shifted slightly, his question a low, anxious murmur on Merlin's shoulder. "Can I find you that way, too?"

Merlin turned his head on the pillow, wishing Arthur would loosen his grip enough so that he could twist around to see him. His eyes were used to the gloom, now, and the neighbour's lights through the bathroom window was giving Merlin more than enough he needed to see by. Arthur only held on firmly, and wedged his legs between Merlin's until he was completely pinned down. Merlin smirked in amusement. "Can't you feel me now?"

Arthur made a sound that was somewhere between curiosity and confusion.

"Just close your eyes," Merlin whispered. "Close them and take deep breaths. Count backward from a hundred until all you can hear in your head is your heart pounding. Listen for the silence in between the heartbeats and try to make that moment stretch as long as you can. It'll be like freezing time. And when it's frozen, that's when you'll know where I am. It'll just be a pull. A direction. And you'll know I'm close when the sound of my heart pounding fills the silence in yours."

Arthur didn't answer. He didn't even move. If anything, his body had relaxed as if Merlin had somehow hypnotized him into falling asleep, and although his grasp around Merlin's waist hadn't lessened, it was marginally lighter than before.

Merlin closed his eyes against the shadows in the room, at the slivers of light through the windows and under the crack of the door, at the distant rumble of late-late night traffic, at the creak of the sofa downstairs and the click of telly channels being flipped, at the calm reassurance of Arthur's warmth seeping through him. Merlin was drifting of to sleep a second time when he felt warm lips against his shoulder and heard a soft, sleepy whisper.

"I can hear you." Arthur's hand slid down Merlin's side. "I can feel you."

"You're cheating. I'm right here," Merlin said, smiling. Arthur's hand curled over Merlin's tattoo, and the touch alone made Merlin draw a deep breath, releasing it with a shudder.

Arthur kissed Merlin's shoulder. He kissed the crook of Merlin's neck. He kissed the nape. He shifted on the bed behind Merlin and licked a stripe to Merlin's ear before rolling him onto his back.

Arthur's weight was a comfort, easing the last of the lingering anxiety. He was real, he was safe, he was _here_ , and Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist to keep him where he was, shifting his legs so that Arthur fit in between.

Arthur nuzzled Merlin's throat; Merlin tilted his head back with a soft moan. He stroked down Arthur's back and felt Arthur flinch when his hand passed over a bruise. Arthur's persistent affections didn't ease, not for a single second, and Merlin wallowed in a flush of mindlessness from the gentle touches and licks before fighting for coherence. Concern won out, and he asked, "Are you cleared for sex?"

The lips pressing kisses in the crook of Merlin's neck and shoulder huffed a sound that couldn't be anything else other than a muffled snort. "Don't care," Arthur finally said.

"Arthur --"

Arthur raised his head then, and in the dull glow coming from the bathroom window, Merlin could see the shine in Arthur's eyes, wet and slick, his expression shattered and full of _need_. 

Whatever had happened when they were out of contact, whatever it was that Arthur had gone through, it had been enough to jar Arthur's usually steady and stoic demeanour, bringing all sorts of raging emotions to the fore. There was a tremble to him now, too close to terror for comfort. Arthur's fingers tightened on Merlin's arm, on Merlin's ribs, and yes, there would be bruises in the morning, but like Arthur, Merlin didn't care.

All he wanted was to wipe away that fear that was seeping through Arthur now, to reassure him that he was all right, that they were all right, that they would make it through this.

Merlin touched Arthur's cheek; he ran a thumb where he felt the wet of tears, and it was in this moment that Merlin realized that he needed this as much as Arthur did, that they were both needing some sort of reassurance and confirmation that they were both there, that they were both real. 

Merlin ran his hand down Arthur's throat, over his shoulder, down his arm. He ran his hand along Arthur's side and felt a rejoining shudder as his touch echoed from Arthur's tattoo through the bond. He reached down until his fingers wedged beneath the waistband of Arthur's pyjama bottoms and didn't stop until he cupped Arthur's arse.

In all this, Arthur didn't move; he stayed stock still and firm, propped up over Merlin, his lips a bare centimetre away from Merlin's, well within reach, well within kissing distance. But when Merlin squeezed his bum, Arthur's hips hitched, rubbing his cock against Merlin's in a rough, desperate way that tore a gasp from Merlin's lips.

Arthur muffled it with a rough kiss and another cant of his hips, and it was unfair, because they were both still clothed. All Merlin wanted to feel in that moment was Arthur's skin; all he wanted to know was Arthur whole.

Merlin pulled away from the kiss and snaked a hand behind the nape of Arthur's neck, pulling on his hair until Arthur hissed a little from the pain. He guided Arthur down to him, and this time, their kiss was gentle and soft and tragic, leaving behind a touch of sadness that made Merlin wonder if Arthur was preparing for the worst.

But the worst of what?

That thought was wiped away with another kiss, and yet another, a press of lips that was chaste and questioning and exploring, as if this was their very first kiss and that it might also be their last. Arthur's bruising hold on Merlin's arm and side eased, and there was a feather-light touch down his ribs, trailing down millimetre and millimetre in an attempt to commit it all to touch-memory.

They broke for breath; Arthur nuzzled Merlin's cheek before drifting to kiss the line of Merlin's jaw, inching toward his ear nibble by nibble until he reached the earlobe and pulled it with his teeth.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped, running his hands over Arthur's shoulder, raising a leg to turn them over until he had Arthur pinned under him. There was a tangle of sheets pinning them on one side, restricting movement; Arthur wrenched it out of the way and pushed at Merlin's boxers until they were halfway down his arse. Arthur made a tiny needy sound that unravelled Merlin's thought process until he could pull it back together, and he said again, "Arthur. Arthur."

Maybe it was the rumble in Merlin's voice, maybe it was the desperation in his tone; Merlin would never really know. But Arthur pulled away and his words cracked when he tried to explain, and instead of something that made sense, all Merlin could understand was, "…scared."

Merlin stroked Arthur's hair, careful of the stitched cut at his temple. He ran his hands over Arthur's face, down his throat, along his sides, uttering soothing shushes and reassurances that _you're all right_ , _you're home_ , _I'm here._ He kissed Arthur as gently and as chastely as Arthur had kissed him only moments ago. He tugged at Arthur's lower lip until he earned himself a moan; he teased Arthur's mouth with his tongue until he could slip it inside. He caught the tip of Arthur's tongue and went questing for more of Arthur's taste until Arthur flipped them over again, pinning Merlin with his weight.

They kissed until Merlin's jaw ached. They kissed until the throb of his cock threatened to swell and erupt in his pants. They kissed until Arthur's groan of frustration and want and need made Merlin blind with desire.

Arthur shifted his weight just enough to push Merlin's pants down to his thighs and to wrap his hand around Merlin's cock. It was in something of a daze that Merlin raised a knee to push them all the way down, and he couldn't even tell where they ended up when they were kicked away. His attempt to pull at Arthur's bottoms were curtailed when the twist of Arthur's wrist left Merlin's cock dribbling enough pre-come to make him nice and wet and slick.

Arthur stroked him. Merlin couldn't help it; he raised his hips as much as Arthur allowed and fucked into that circle of fingers. Arthur's hand stilled, letting him do it; it was only distantly that Merlin knew that the pressure against his leg was Arthur rubbing against his thigh. It was maddening to be separated by only a thin piece of cloth, but Arthur wasn't budging and Merlin didn't want him to stop and his magic flared out, wild and out of control, shoving at anything and everything that was between them. The pillows, the blankets, the pyjama bottoms.

Even the mattress shifted a little.

There was a light, wet pop of lips where Arthur had been sucking a mark into Merlin's throat; a stilling of the body rocking against him. Merlin opened his eyes to blink stupidly at Arthur, his question of complaint dying in his throat when he saw the way that Arthur was looking at him now.

It was too dark to make out colours clearly, even with the neighbour damn near flashing a floodlight into the attached bathroom, but Merlin had always been able to make out the pale blue of Arthur's eyes. The blue was nearly black with desire and the moan that escaped Arthur's lips was filthy; before Merlin could say or do anything, Arthur shifted his weight until he was on top of Merlin again, drowning out his hasty apology with kiss after drowning kiss. 

Arthur rocked against Merlin; Merlin's legs fell open to wrap around Arthur's hips, to guide him into a familiar rhythm. There was a frustrating tease of skin against skin, a brush of cock against his thigh, against his stomach, sliding against _him_. Every time Arthur eased off to lean down to lick at Merlin's throat, to inch down, down, down onto his chest, he would be overcome, and climb over Merlin to rut and rock and kiss, unable to stop.

The only real pause was when Arthur reached for the lube in the bedside table drawer. The click of the cap was obscene in the gloom, the slick of fingers rubbing around Merlin's hole even more so. The sound Merlin made was all the encouragement that Arthur needed, because one finger, then two, quickly filled him, working him open with an urgency that Merlin wasn't aware was even possible, and for which he didn't complain, because he needed and wanted Arthur in him now, he wanted to feel him, he wanted to know that Arthur was home and safe and there with him.

Arthur didn't bother with a third finger. He shifted his weight, balanced himself on one arm, and guided his cock to Merlin's rim. He didn't move at first; he didn't press forward, and then he _did_ , needy and insistent and with gasping breaths that were half-afraid of hurting Merlin and half-afraid of hurting them both. His cockhead finally pushed past the tight ring.

And Arthur thrust hard until he was seated all the way in.

Merlin saw white. It hurt and stung and burned all at the same time. Arthur's breathing was harsh against his throat, but he didn't move; he was holding himself as still as he could until the burn of it eased just enough that Merlin started to urge Arthur to _fuck_ , already, tightening his legs around him.

In between Arthur's heavy gasps, Merlin could make out a few strangled words. _Sorry, so sorry_ , _don't want to lose you_ , _can't_ , and Merlin suffocated under the weight of Arthur's fear, the unspoken terror finally seeping through Merlin's skin and into his bones, filling his heart and his soul and his mind, and he was _afraid_ and not knowing why. He didn't know what Arthur was thinking, what was pushing him to say these things, and when Arthur drew back enough that he could pull out and thrust in, slowly and shallowly, moisture fell on Merlin's face.

"Oh, God, _Arthur_ ," Merlin gasped, reaching up with a hand to see if Arthur was hurt, if he was bleeding again, if -- but it wasn't blood.

Arthur was crying.

Merlin rubbed his sides, his hand lingering on the tattoo, touching everywhere he could to try to ease Arthur's fears, but nothing worked, nothing at all, not until Arthur shifted his angle and thrust harder and hit _that_ spot and drew out a strangled, desperate moan from Merlin. Arthur relaxed, as if _hearing_ Merlin beneath him was all that he needed.

The fucking became slow and languid then, a slow, terrible build into a crest and climax that abated because Arthur slowed down and reached to curl his fingers at the base of his cock to keep from coming too soon. He smothered Merlin in kisses; he put a hand on Merlin's cock to stroke him, then to squeeze him, and the rise and fall and the promise and the tease of the climax robbed Merlin of every word he had ever known and reduced him to a desperate, strangled babble.

Then, finally, finally, neither of them could stand to hold off any longer. The tempo increased; Arthur fucked faster and harder until the sound of slapping skin drowned out the frantic moans and urgent groans of encouragement. Each deep thrust struck Merlin's prostate, and it was a chaotic pulse that finally threw him over the edge and he came and came and blacked out, limp with surrender. When he came out of it, Arthur must have come, too, because he'd slipped out of Merlin. He had buried his nose in Merlin's neck and was rubbing his sides and murmuring words too low for Merlin to hear, even if he were capable of sorting out what those sounds and syllables actually _were._

They stayed like that; neither in a hurry to separate or to get something to clean themselves off. The blankets were half-hanging from the bed, the pillows that hadn't been tossed to the ground were just out of reach. Any time Merlin thought about twisting over for the blanket, because it was cool in the house and it was chilling the sweat on their skin, Arthur held Merlin tightly, because moving was not an option.

Merlin went from being sticky with come to being glued to Arthur to being just plain itchy as it dried on his skin, and after scratching absentmindedly at his belly and admiring the way that the deeper shadows highlighted the muscles in Arthur's arm, Merlin remembered that he had magic, and that he knew a handy spell that completely eliminated any embarrassing moments with his Mum when his Mum came in too early in the morning to do the laundry. He murmured the words to the spell, felt the familiar tingles as it cleaned off his skin, and directed it to clean off Arthur, too.

Arthur grumbled and shifted his body a little to the side in annoyance. Where he had been warmed by Arthur's body, he was now cold; Merlin pulled the blankets up with his magic, covering them both.

He was too lazy to bother with the pillows.

Merlin could tell from the way that Arthur was breathing -- he was feigning sleep by breathing deep, too deep, and exhaling out too quickly, shuttering his air in short bursts -- that Arthur was still awake, and had no compunctions against running his hands over wherever he could reach. He waited for Arthur to calm down, not just from the comfort sex, but from whatever was weighing heavily on his mind.

"What's really bothering you?"

His whisper didn't leave the perimeter of the bed, but it might as well not have been loud enough for even Arthur to hear, because Arthur didn't stir and he didn't move and he didn't speak. Merlin stared up at the ceiling, trying to make out the details of the overhead light instead of letting himself worry about all the reasons why Arthur was scared, so scared that he would cry.

Merlin couldn't stand the silence. The questions burst in his chest. One of them had to give, and it was Merlin. He asked, "Did they threaten you? Morgana? The Colonel?"

"No," Arthur said finally, stirring only a little, putting his hand on Merlin's hip, his thumb brushing over the bone. The movement jarred the blanket, and Merlin hiked it up. "I made a mistake."

"We talked about that," Merlin said. "It's not a mistake if you've done it on purpose."

Arthur drew away from Merlin, pulling himself up into a sitting position; he reached over Merlin to reach the lamp on the bedside table, turning it on. The light was blinding, and Merlin squinted, blinking several times until the sunspots in his vision faded away.

"I wanted to push them. We can't let them drag on. I've been planning ahead for everything that could possibly happen, and it's been driving me mad. And I --

"I didn't think. I didn't plan for _this_ outcome. Maybe I didn't want to think about what would happen if we did this. I don't know. I'm just…" Arthur trailed off, leaning forward, elbows around his legs, staring at his hands. When he spoke again, it was vehement and venomous. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

Merlin pushed himself up, tilting his head to take in Arthur's profile, and he didn't know which of them was the biggest idiot, but Merlin was definitely one of the frontrunners in this competition. Arthur wasn't afraid of what had happened. It wasn't just the residual adrenaline that had driven him earlier. Arthur was worried that he hadn't planned for what was going to happen, or that he wasn't prepared for what he knew would happen. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, but Arthur only lowered his eyes even more.

"I asked you to encrypt the database," Arthur said quietly.

"I know. I was there," Merlin said, trying for humour and falling far flat of his goal. The lamplight was harsh, and it only cast severe shadows over Arthur's face, heightening the weight that he'd put on his own shoulders. "They won't be able to crack it."

"And that's when they'll know that it was you, somehow," Arthur said. "And when they know that, that's when they'll come after you."

Merlin exhaled slowly. He nodded, mostly to himself, because now he understood. He understood why Arthur was so upset. It was because things were spiraling out of his control. Because it would get to the point where he couldn't protect everyone.

Where he couldn't protect Merlin.

"I kind of figured," Merlin said. Merlin could count on one hand the number of people -- himself included -- who could break one of his encryption keys and have four fingers left over. This wasn't ego talking; it was proof. Even Locher at the cryptography center couldn't do it. It was why Crack Boxes had been created -- the people who had the head and the training for the mathematics involved simply didn't exist. Unless the NWO got their hands on a Crack Box with the most recent patch -- a patch that included the latest code that was the result of long boring days of waiting for Arthur to come home from his day job -- it was guaranteed that they would know nearly right away who had a hand in this. "It puts the ball back in our court, Arthur. I don't give a flying fuck what Morgause wants or what she does. You run the show, not her."

"Merlin," Arthur said, his voice strained, and Merlin could feel the heat generated from the turmoil swirling in Arthur's mind. "Merlin. God, Merlin. I was never sure what they'd do to get what they wanted. They tried to kidnap Morgana but it didn't really sink in until tonight just how far they'd go --"

"Arthur," Merlin began, but Arthur turned to face him.

"They'll come after you, Merlin. I know they will. Nothing else makes sense. They're desperate at this point, they're on some sort of a schedule. Why would they take the risk they did by sending in a hacker instead of asking me to copy the information over for them? Because they wanted to make sure that they got all the information they needed up front. They could trust me to walk it out, but not to make sure that the data was there. And why didn't they just wait until they had a better opportunity to come in and get the files themselves? Because they don't have time. They're running out of options. And doing something drastic --"

Arthur's cell phone rang. A second later, so did Merlin's, mirroring the call. There was one and only one person whose number would ring on both.

Morgause.

Arthur's expression was severe when he looked at the caller display and nodded at Merlin to take the other phone to listen in. Arthur's eyes screwed shut for a moment, his mouth tightened until his lips were white with strain, and when he answered the phone, all the frustrations that he was feeling now had been channeled into anger.

"The fuck you're doing calling me -- do you know what fucking time it is?" Arthur snapped. "You got what you wanted, doesn't that buy me a night's sleep?"

"You lied to us, Arthur. You said that was the hard drive our man gave you," Morgause said, her voice so frosty that it nearly quenched the heat in Arthur's. 

"You'd trust your rent-a-hacker over me? That's your hard drive," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin.

"Then you did something to it. You passed it over a magnet. You damaged the content."

"For a brilliant bird, you sure are dumb as shite," Arthur said. "You really think I was going to let you have _carte blanche_ over everything in the database without hedging my bets? And thank _fuck_ for that, because if your boys had their way, we wouldn't be having this chat right now --"

Merlin froze. _They nearly killed Arthur --_ he realized, though he should have known, given the flesh wound across his skull. They nearly killed him. Merlin stared at Arthur with wide, round eyes. Arthur took his hand and squeezed tight.

"They had instructions --"

"What, to eliminate me? Because you don't need me anymore? Because you got what you fucking wanted? Listen, Morgause, you better bend over and kiss your own lucky arse that I'm alive right now, since no one else you're hanging out with seems smart enough to know what's going on. Let me educate you right now. It's called _encryption._ "

Arthur hung up. He turned off his phone. Any more calls would go right to voice mail.

Merlin looked at Arthur; Arthur looked back. Merlin held his breath but it looked as if Arthur was hyperventilating. Everything that Arthur was saying finally sank in, puzzle piece after puzzle piece. Of course, Merlin knew that they would figure out that Merlin was involved in the encryption. Of course, they would want Merlin to undo it. That was the plan all along -- to string Morgause along, to make the NWO reliant on each and every member of Excalibur.

Except Arthur must have found out that the time frame for whatever it was that the NWO was going to do -- it had moved up drastically. They weren't thinking in terms of months. It sounded as if they were coming down to weeks. Maybe even days.

With such a tight deadline, the NWO was getting aggressive. So aggressive, that they were cutting loose ends -- anyone and everyone who could disrupt their plans, anyone and everyone who had outlived their usefulness.

Except they hadn't clued in on how wily Arthur could be. How he had plans within plans. How a single detail had thrown a monkey wrench into the slow, cumbersome machine that was the NWO just as it had begun to pick up speed.

And when the desperate had their backs to the wall...

Merlin suddenly understood everything. Arthur's temper with Morgana. The way he hadn't let Merlin out of his sight while Lance was making certain his injury wasn't as bad as it looked. How he'd come downstairs, drawn and anxious, looking for Merlin. The desperation with which they'd made love.

"They're going to come after you," Arthur said softly. "At you, Merlin. They're going to come at you with everything they've got. And it's my fault. These are the cards I laid on the table and I laid them out wrong. It's not the way I wanted it to go but I fucked up and we've got no choice. We have to play the game. I don't… I don't want this. This isn't even in the realm of bad ideas, it's way past that --"

Arthur's eyes were pale and watery when he looked up and met Merlin's gaze. 

"I can't lose you. I can't. We could give them the decrypt key. We could negotiate something --"

Merlin leaned close and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders. "It's done. We didn't know they were moving things faster. We couldn't know."

They shared a look and Merlin knew that they were thinking the same thing. The exact same thing. _The Directory knew._

They wouldn't have set up Pendragon as such a tasty morsel for the NWO if they hadn't had this information. The Directory had manipulated them, hoping to get Excalibur placed even further into the NWO, in a jockeying position, and it had nearly blown up in all their faces.

"It could've gone wrong. We could've lost our chance completely. You wouldn't even be here. We'd never have another way in." Merlin touched Arthur's cheek. "This is our job, Arthur. We trained for this. And we've got you. You'll outthink them. You always do. You'll negotiate, you'll find a way to wedge our way further into the NWO. All you need is more information, yeah? If they make me decrypt the hard drive, they'll want it on their systems, and that gives me access. I'll get it for you. We'll just... We'll sleep on it, yeah? We'll plan it all out tomorrow. Not just you and me, but all of us."

Arthur worked his jaw and nodded, and beneath the frustration, beneath the fear, Merlin could see Athur's anger seeping through.

"This was all a set up. Bayard did this. He knew the NWO would come after you. He knew it from the start."

"I'm... I'm getting that feeling, yeah," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur rubbed his face in his hands. He reached out and pulled Merlin into his arms. "You'll teach me how to find you."

"It's easy. You'll get it in no time," Merlin whispered, even though he knew that wasn't true. It took months, even years, sometimes, for someone who didn't have magic to attain that state of meditation where they could sense their partner. At least, that was what Gaius had said. Maybe Merlin could cheat a little, and use his magic to pull Arthur to him.

"And..." Arthur's voice turned strangled and hoarse. "And if they get you, if they take you and I can't get you back, fuck the mission, tell me you'll do anything, and I mean _anything_ \--"

Merlin didn't let him finish. He pulled away from Arthur and bowed his head, their foreheads touching. "I'll do anything. I'll do _everything_ to get back to you."

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

 

Not for the first time, Arthur decided that he needed a bigger flat.

It was a full house at the bright-and-early hour of who-gets-up-this-fucking-early-the-sun's-not-even, and instead of the usual PT, Arthur was laying it out on the line. He started out with a sketchy briefing of everything that had happened since the very beginning for Morgana and Gwen's benefit, including the highlights of a few active duty missions, taking care not to mention anything too violent or bloody or stupid, because there was no reason to alarm Morgana and Gwen more than they already were. He glossed over the _why_ of their recruitment, skipping over any and every mention of Merlin's magic, and in the eyes of his men, he knew they would keep Merlin's secret for now.

He recounted every event, including the failed attempt to kidnap Morgana that Morgana kept drilling him with questions about --

"You never did explain how she got me away from the Louvre in the first place," Morgana pointed out. "I don't care how reasonable she was or what credentials she flashed in my face, I would never have gone with her without alerting someone --"

"I don't know, Morgana," Arthur said wearily, because he'd been ducking and weaving her pointed inquiries for half an hour longer than he had planned on. _They must have used a drug on you, Morgana. No, I don't know which one. Yeah, I know your blood panels came back clean. Maybe it was a drug with a short half-life. No, Morgana, I really don't know what they did. Yes, they must have someone's prototypes, yes, it was freaky arse shite in that alley, no, I don't know what weaponry they used, I didn't get a good look, I was more interested in trying to get you back._

Arthur felt as if he was a broken record, and apparently Morgana thought so, too, because she looked dubious. "And you're saying that you managed to get me away, how, exactly?"

"It was _Merlin_ ," Arthur said, and not for the first time. And like every time Arthur reminded her that it was Merlin who had gone in and risked his neck for her sorry arse, Morgana's lips went thin and white with guilt, remembering her harsh words to him several hours ago. She pointedly did not look in Merlin's direction, and Merlin didn't so much as glance up from the table where he was working on the tracking devices.

"I don't --" Morgana began, and Arthur shook his head to blow off the rest of what she was about to say -- _I don't believe it, I saw the explosions, I heard the gunfire, what could he have done_ \-- because, really, he didn't want to hear it. She finished with, "But _how_?"

"Lucky shot," Merlin said flatly, his head bowed over the tracking devices, ridiculous magnifying glasses turning him into a mad scientist from a bad B movie. "I saw an opening. I went for it."

At the sound of Merlin's voice, at his cold, distant tone, Morgana sat up straighter, half-offended and half-embarrassed, but she didn't turn around, and she didn't address him. Arthur glanced at Leon, saw the scowl that shadowed his gaze, the barely held-in-check frustration and irritation and anger that Morgana would accuse one of his teammates, that she would accuse _Merlin_ , of all people, of being a double-agent.

The silence was a festering wound, and Arthur let it fester, because he didn't give a damn how uncomfortable Morgana was right now, he would make her _suffer_ a moment longer. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, glossed over how they had gotten from Paris to _this_ , where _this_ was Arthur handing over billions of dollars of research and confidential information and government contract details to the NWO.

He knew that Leon and Lance would tell Morgana and Gwen the full story, that they would answer the questions that Morgana and Gwen had as best they could, that they would, like Arthur had, skip over the parts where the team was in danger, where one of their own had suffered injuries, that Merlin had _magic_ , that the NWO did, too, that Bayard and the Directory were the country's last line of defence against people who used powers that shouldn't exist, and _God help them all_.

Arthur would tell them, someday, or another member of Excalibur would; but today was not that day. He still didn't know how he would convince them that magic was real. Hell, he hadn't even told them of the incident when Merlin had nearly _died_ from Trickler's attack.

That was something that Arthur didn't want to relive, not even in his memories, not out loud.

If there was one thing that Leon and Lance couldn't tell Morgana and Gwen, it was what, exactly, had happened in the hours between receiving the phone call with the delivery orders and the time that Kay had come to fetch them.

Everyone was waiting for that.

The entire team was there, plus Morgana and Gwen; all the seats were taken and dragged in a rough circle in the living room, except for Merlin, who had woken up before Arthur and had immediately gone to work with a fervour that made Arthur worry that Merlin would track down the people responsible and do some serious damage before the rest of them could get in on the action. He hadn't looked up when Arthur pushed a protein shake into his hand; he'd grunted in dissatisfaction when Arthur nagged him to drink it; he'd barely lifted a hand in greeting when the team arrived, one by one. Merlin wasn't ignoring them, not exactly. Ever since Arthur had told him why he was on edge, why he was so... _afraid_ , Merlin's focus had come to a sharp point, and he was working with intense determination to give Arthur every tool he could to go after the NWO.

In the pause that Arthur used to collect his thoughts, Gwaine got up from his spot on the couch next to Perceval, went into the back room, and returned with a bottle of painkillers. Perceval's leg was propped up on the coffee table, a pillow under his foot, ice on his shin to keep the swelling down.

Not broken, thank _fuck_ , but bruised and painful to stand on and equally painful to look at, with a blood clot knob the size of a walnut just under the knee. Arthur wasn't sure if Will really had tried hard to break Perceval's leg, or if he'd just faked it to the best of his ability. If it was the latter, Arthur gave them both credit, because Will's attack and Perceval's reaction had been completely believable.

He glanced at Merlin, waiting to see if Merlin would stop working to listen to this part of the story, wondering how he would react to hear that his best friend had attacked a teammate. Sure, they were undercover, under assignment, and if Will didn't do as he was ordered to maintain his identity, then he was as good as dead. He had had to do it. Arthur knew that. Perceval, as furious as he was to have walked right into it in the first place, knew that. Merlin wouldn't like it -- neither would the rest of the team, and the last thing that Arthur wanted was to find out that Gwaine and Will were locked in some sort of epic sniper showdown as a result of all this.

"Last night…" Arthur took the glass of water that Gwen offered him gratefully, because he'd been talking nearly nonstop for the last two hours straight, pausing only to answer questions and avoiding Morgana's. He waited until she sat down next to Lance, noticing how her hand twined protectively around Lance's arm. She was an army wife through and through -- solid, steady, and as fierce as any soldier when it came to making certain that those she loved were safe. Lance was at the very top of her list; the rest of them were falling further and further down, and from the dark looks that she had sent his way, Arthur guessed that he was in danger of being removed from that list entirely.

He drank, put down the glass, and started again. "Last night --"

 

* * *

 

Arthur stared at his phone for a good few minutes before he pocketed it. He rummaged through the debris of take away containers -- Chinese food, this time, courtesy of Bohrs who had gone out to pick up a large order for the security team who were staying late to keep an eye on the IT people from Lightforce -- and recovered the package that had been delivered to him just before 1600.

For all appearance, the bubblewrap envelope wasn't any different than most of the packages that Arthur received on a regular basis. The padding made it stand out, but it wasn't unusual. His name and address were on the front -- it looked as if someone had copied it from one of Arthur's business cards, printed so carefully that even a handwriting expert would be hard-pressed to identify the person who had written it. There was a return address, too, which Arthur had at first assumed to be a throwaway fake, but which turned out to be the same as the address that Arthur had been given over the phone.

"We're on?" Perceval asked. Bohrs looked more interested in the bottom of his container, chasing after a grain of rice with his chopsticks.

"Yeah," Arthur said tiredly. There hadn't been much room for negotiation in the short conversation over the phone; the unidentified man on the other end of the line had waited until Arthur identified himself before rudely giving directions -- the address, the time, to come alone, but, _if you must have someone come along to hold your hand, bring only one of your men, or we will shoot the second._

It was all very polite, with clipped, precise language and a smooth South African accent that rang all sorts of alarm bells and reminded Arthur of Paris and of Jonathan Aredian, but he knew that there was a warrant out for Aredian's arrest and that the man hadn't come to the UK in decades. Still, he considered himself forewarned, and prepared himself for the absolute _worst_.

Obviously, someone had been watching them long enough to know that Arthur and Merlin rarely went anywhere without two bodyguards each, or Aredian -- if that was who had been on the phone -- was aware of Arthur and Merlin's movements. Arthur knew that he should be alarmed, but he was more annoyed that the person he spoke to hung up on him before Arthur could attempt to wrestle control of the situation

"Just one of you, though," Arthur said. He put down the package and opened the desk drawer where he'd stashed his shoulder harness and gun. It wouldn't have gone over well with Human Resources if someone complained that one of the bosses was walking around the supposedly secure building _armed to the fucking teeth_ , but what they couldn't see wouldn't hurt them.

Arthur wasn't going anywhere without a full complement of weaponry -- at least, as full a complement as he could get away with short of being in uniform and loaded for bear. He checked his gun, holstered it, pulled on his coat, pocketed extra magazines, and glanced at his men.

Bohrs was still eating -- he'd given up on one container and had started on the other -- but Perceval was pulling on his jacket. There was no question which one of them would be accompanying Arthur now. Bohrs was needed here, where he could continue to coordinate between Leon and the security team. Perceval was better at thinking on his feet, anyway, and there was the obvious bonus that he was more than capable at his job.

He texted Merlin on the way down to the car. 

_Hnd-delivrng to the prick at 2000 hrs @ dive in Cmden_

_Tld hm whre to stick it_ \-- which he _wished_ he'd done, but it made him feel better to pretend that he had.

_Said I do ths, or NWO bmbs HQ hve O chk threat_

From this point on, Arthur had to assume that they would be under surveillance, their every move catalogued -- if not by the NWO, then by the Directory and maybe even some of Olaf's people. Either way, he had to be careful what he said and did and how he did them, because he didn't want to give the game away. They bypassed the security checkpoint easily enough -- the metal detectors chirped as they walked through, but the guards knew that Perceval was Arthur's bodyguard, and no one had the balls to search either one of them if they wanted to keep their lives (in Perceval's case) and their jobs (in Arthur's).

It wasn't until they were in the car and on their way to Camden that Arthur relayed similar orders to Leon, who would be coordinating everything from the home front while Arthur handed over the future of his family's company. His stomach was in knots at the thought, and the only reassurance he had that he wasn't destroying his father's legacy was the knowledge that Merlin had encrypted the contents of the hard drive -- and, knowing Merlin, he hadn't only encrypted them, he'd locked them down so well that it would take an universe's eternity to crack it.

If not longer.

Arthur didn't like using Merlin as leverage against the NWO. He had a feeling that, once Morgause and her people got their hands on the hard drive, they wouldn't need Arthur, Pendragon Consulting, or anyone else any longer. He already expected this to go bad; he had contingency plans on contingency plans in case they did, and he went over them again with Perceval.

There was an equal measure of chance that Morgause might simply pat Arthur on the head and tell him to scurry off, _there's a good boy_ , and Arthur would never hear from them again, except for the occasional call where the NWO would make sure that Arthur was still in the game, to make him feel included and involved. It was the way that he'd observed the NWO operate thus far; but he wouldn't be surprised if they changed tactics.

And changed tactics they did, Arthur realized once they arrived. He'd spotted Pellinor and Lamorak on stakeout down the road, but he pretended that he didn't know that they were there. As soon as they stepped into the dark that was the dive, the bartender looked them up and down and jerked his head to the left in a _go on in that way_ gesture. He pointed to a side door.

Perceval went first to check things out. The door led to a short corridor with three doors: one to an empty office, a second to a cramped and cluttered storeroom, and a third to the alley. There were colourful -- and faded -- posters wallpapering every surface, even the floor where someone had waxed over it, a few boxes jammed in the corner, assorted clutter and cigarette butts, and a pay phone. The lingering odour of stale smoke mixed with the reek of decomposing rodents from the store room; there was the smell of mould and must from the office, the lower half of the walls and the baseboard hinting at signs of water damage.

Perceval checked the alley, but it was empty. "Dead end?"

The pay phone rang. Arthur exchanged a glance and a raised brow with Perceval, and after reminding himself that he'd had all of his vaccinations, picked up the filthy handpiece with forefinger and thumb. He brought it in the general vicinity of his ear; he wasn't going to let it touch him. "The number you have reached is no longer in service," he said.

Perceval smirked.

"Right, right, very funny, you _jukka_. Now listen to me carefully. You're going to walk out the exit and into the alley. You're going to head north out of there, go four blocks west, then eight blocks south. Go to the late night pizza place, find the pay phone, and wait."

The man was South African, all right, with a heady brogue mixed in, and the simple lack of _culture_ and polish was enough to confirm that Arthur wasn't dealing with Aredian anymore -- if he had been at all. But he knew that surely Aredian had his hand in this, somehow. The Directory had been able to confirm at least something of Aredian's association with the NWO.

"Scavenger hunt," Arthur told Perceval, and Perceval rolled his eyes, just as unimpressed -- perhaps less so -- as Arthur at the turn of events. This had been on Arthur's list of possibilities. The NWO might still suspect Arthur, and they wouldn't trust him not to have set up some sort of trap for them with the authorities hot on their tails.

They followed the directions to the next destination. Arthur opted not to call in, in case they were being watched along the way. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the pizza shop, a tingling wave of ghostly hands passed over his body from head to toe, fondling and groping, completely invasive and harassing, before the feeling finally vanished. Arthur and Perceval exchanged glances. They'd felt this before, at one of Bryn's clubs. Arthur glanced around the diner carefully, but aside from a curious, reflexive glance in their direction, almost everyone ignored them.

"Can I help you?" the kid behind the counter asked.

"Phone?"

The kid gestured lazily in a random direction. Arthur and Perceval found the pay phone and waited ten minutes before it rang.

"I don't have time for this shite," Arthur began, but he was cut off by the same South African voice on the other end of the line.

"You're gonna dump your weapons -- guns and knives. All of them. Your phones, too. If you have anything on you at your next destination, we'll hunt down your family and we'll kill them. Maybe we'll have us a little fun with them first -- I hear your sister's a beauty, and that boy of yours has the prettiest mouth anyone has ever seen."

Arthur saw so much red that he almost didn't hear their next destination.

They disassembled their guns to be on the safe side, and scattered them through the alley behind the diner. Their phones were wrapped in a plastic bag and tucked behind a dumpster.

It took them less than five minutes to get to their next check-in, and the same _frisky_ hands felt them both up when they crossed the threshold. When the call came in, it was with a curt address and something new: a time limit.

By the fourth phone call, Arthur's temper was set on high, and Perceval was ready to kill someone. They'd had to race from location to location, often doubling back and following ridiculous instructions. It was very Die Hard -- and the amusement factor of being on the receiving end of this game was very, very low. When Arthur reached the pay phone just as it rang for the fifth time, he answered with, "You've had your fun, but unless the next spot is where we'll hand this shite off, I'm going to toss it down the first sewer drain I see, and good fucking luck to you."

There was a long silence before there was a response, the sound of papers being shuffled. The new instructions were to head to a district a stone's throw from their starting point in Camden.

"And if you don't mind, we're taking a cab," Arthur said, and hung up.

The final destination was a mechanic's garage, tucked out of sight on a worn-down cobblestone road. The sign over the door was made of wood, the paint was flaking off, but in the distant streetlight, Arthur could make out the name: Red's Shop.

Inventive.

He tried the glass shop door, but it was locked. They couldn't see anyone inside, but there was a faint light coming off from the right, where the garage was. Arthur rapped a knuckle on the surface, and the shadows shifted. They heard voices and approaching footsteps. 

Perceval gestured and Arthur stepped aside. The NWO might know that they were now disarmed, but Perceval was formidable not only in height and muscle, but in his ability to knock down three men with one blow. And that wasn't even taking into account their military training -- training that the NWO seemed to have forgotten they had. It was just one more advantage for Arthur and Perceval, and Arthur wasn't going to complain.

The CLOSED sign was pushed aside, someone looked out, and the lock clicked. The door swung open and a man who had adverted creeping male pattern baldness by shaving his head inspected them up and down, his too-large square glasses reflecting the fluorescent light behind them. He wore blue coveralls stained in grease, but his hands were too clean for him to be a mechanic.

The shop was a cover.

"Get in," the man said.

Perceval muscled his way in first, and Arthur followed in his wake. The man locked up behind them with something of urgency, peeked outside once more, then shoved his way past to lead them to the garage.

It was a triple-bay garage, probably did good business on any given day, and the furthest workstation was in use. There was an old beater in there, and it would probably be on its last wheels if there were any wheels on the car in the first place, the rust edging along the edges in a brittle crumble that no paste and polish could repair. The hood was mismatched, tilted at an angle, and probably belonged to a different year.

It also looked as if it had been there as long as the garage had been in operation.

There were tools scattered all around them, with no sign of neatness or organization that would be common in a mom-and-pop shop like this. There were grease stains on the ground, puddles of transmission fluid, some oil; there were other patches here and there that were of dubious origin. There was a calendar hanging on the wall that was from at least six years ago, and Miss July was sitting on the hood of a classic muscle car that was either an American Mustang or a Trans Am -- Arthur couldn't tell from the way the photo was cropped -- with her chest puffed out and her breasts bare.

Six men were in the open space, seven if Arthur included the bald man with the 1970s square glasses that masked half of his face. There was Bryn and another man that Arthur recognized from the Directory's database, a hook-nosed brute who took care of his business with his fist named Mahews. There were three men off to the side that Arthur didn't recognize, but from their substantially finer clothing and haughty demeanour, guessed that at least one of them was the South African from the phone.

And there was Will.

Merlin's Will.

He was sitting off on a rickety wooden stool and rocking it, the short leg click-click-clicking on the cement floor, his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. He looked like he didn't want to be there, but didn't have a choice, so he was making himself as small as possible, tucking himself away in a dark corner. Will didn't glance up; he didn't make eye contact. He tilted his chair again and again.

Click-click-click.

Arthur held up the package. Mahews, being the closest, made a grab for it, but Arthur jerked it out of his grasp.

"Where is this going?" Arthur asked.

"That's none of your business," said one of the other men, and this was definitely _the_ South African, the one that Arthur had spoken to on the phone for most of the scavenger hunt. "Give it to him."

He pointed toward the bald man with the square glasses. The man brushed Arthur's hand when he took the padded envelope, and Arthur experienced a disorienting moment when the man's face _flipped_ , the way the old tellys used to flip when the reception on the rabbit ears was bad. It was an illusion, some sort of glamour, if Arthur remembered his Directory terminology, and the illusion shifted just enough, and for just barely long enough, for Arthur to realize that the man was the same man who had hacked the Pendragon database.

A hefty percentage of the Directory database was filled with faces and names that didn't match up to any known database on the planet, and Arthur suddenly realized why -- when they were out in the open, when they could possibly be recognized, when they were operating on official NWO business and didn't need their own faces to back up their credentials, they wore glamours. Arthur wondered if there was a way to do a facial recognition, if the illusions were tied to the wearer's own faces --

Arthur watched as the hacker pulled the hard drive out of the envelope; he handed the envelope to the third man in Bryn's contingent, who grinned at Arthur and Perceval with a crooked, fearsome smile, the sort that was meant to intimidate. Arthur and Perceval exchanged glances; Perceval snorted in derision, and the man scowled before his eyes flashed an orange-red shade.

The envelope burned to a crisp in his hands, and ashes fluttered to the ground.

Arthur stared at the man for a long moment, recalculating odds and restructuring plans. He had already accounted for the presence of a sorcerer among the NWO and knew that Bryn had some magic of his own; now there was this man, and possibly the hacker as well. Will definitely did not have magic, and the South Africans were an unknown quantity.

If the man hoped to get a reaction out of Arthur and Perceval, he was sorely disappointed, because Arthur met his gaze without the least amount of fear or surprise. "Well, that's one way of getting rid of the evidence."

The man glanced at Bryn. Bryn frowned. The South African and his boys remained impassive, standing in triangular formation, their arms slack at their sides, their expressions unreadable. Finally, Bryn said, "You should thank us. Your name was on the envelope."

"And how did it end up here? In the back end of some mechanic's shop that I've never been in? Theft, I suppose, and it can be tracked down to the agent that you planted in my mailroom," Arthur said. He was hedging his bets, taking a guess, and the way that Bryn's eyes widened a fraction, Arthur knew that he had scored a hit. A shame to have to get rid of the entire mailroom department, since he had no idea which of his employees worked for the NWO. "Believe me, Mr. Nash, my hands are clean. Yours, on the other hand…"

Arthur looked at the hacker. He'd taken a handheld UV light from a bag that was besides a wheeled toolbox and was running it on one side of the hard drive. Arthur thought he saw some letters glowing at each pass. "He didn't swap them."

"What, you don't trust me?" Arthur said, making sure that he sounded more annoyed than scandalized.

The South African man gestured to the hacker. " _Maak seker dis daarop._ "

Arthur made an indignant sound. They ignored him while the hacker set up a laptop on the flat of the toolbox, and connected the hard drive with firewire, obviously going ahead to check the hard drive anyway.

This was the part that concerned Arthur. Merlin had said that the encryption wouldn't kick in until the hard drive was disconnected from the Pendragon server. Once they tried to check the hard drive offline, all they would get was the electronic equivalent of rubbish. He lingered, waiting, pretending he didn't know what was going on, relieved that Perceval, besides him, was keeping his cool, too.

From his position, Arthur couldn't see whatever came up on the screen when the hacker opened the hard drive's contents. The root directory should still be present and visible, Merlin had said, but once a file was opened --

Arthur knew the instant that the hacker discovered the result for himself.

" _Fokkit_. He did something to the drive," he spat out.

Bryn whipped around and raised a gun to Arthur's head. The South African and his men, whose attentions had always been on Arthur, shifted their weight from one foot to the other and managing to make it look menacing. Arthur held up his hands and his smile was more mocking than afraid. "I assure you, gentlemen, _I_ didn't do anything to the drive. Maybe your man was a punker."

The hacker's face went red -- even through the glamour. He sputtered and spat and said, "I did my job, I verified the contents, it was all there, I fucking _swear_ \--"

"Oh. So it was _you_." After a moment, Arthur shrugged, lowering his arms. Perceval slowly moved forward, edging Arthur back to protect him. Behind Bryn, Will stood up from the stool, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his head down. He went to stand off to the side.

"-- it was that Emrys guy, wasn't it?" the hacker asked, turning to Arthur. 

"How?" Arthur said, tilting his head. Bryn was inching forward, but Arthur ignored him. "I wasn't informed that you would be in my building copying the database until the moment you were already doing it. Not only did I not know that, nor where you were, nor what terminal you were using, Morgause was, quite frankly, unspecific. If I'd been told up front, I would have guaranteed that you were guided to a terminal with unsecured access, and you wouldn't be having this problem now --"

Bryn pressed the barrel of his gun against Arthur's head. Perceval moved to grab Bryn's arm, but Arthur snorted and scoffed and rolled his eyes, gesturing for Perceval to stand down.

"Emrys," the South African man repeated. "Could he have done this?"

"Of course he could, the man's _legendary_ \--" the hacker said, but the South African raised his hand for silence.

" _Steur dit. Maak seker hulle kry dit._ " 

Arthur watched the two men, wishing he spoke Afrikaans. He knew just enough Dutch to figure out that they were going to send the hard drive contents somewhere.

The hacker typed on the keyboard. He typed some more. He threw his hands in the air. Almost everyone in the room was watching him, but Arthur still wouldn't be able to escape without being noticed.

" _Hulle het dit opgefok. Kannie enige iets lees nie,_ " the hacker said, shaking his head. Arthur hid his relief. The hacker couldn't get the contents off the hard drive. The hacker broke into a rant and started making demands; the South African man shook his head slightly.

"You will be paid once we are assured that the files we need are on the drive," he said, sounding annoyed.

" _Die goed is hier, ek belowe,_ " the hacker said, his voice high-pitched. 

_They're there. I swear it_. Arthur understood that much. The South African ignored him, and turned toward his men.

" _Het ek jou gevra?_ " The South African looked around. " _Was almal onder die oog?_ "

 _Were they all under surveillance?_ Arthur glanced at Perceval, and did his best to cover it up under arrogant annoyance that they were all speaking a language he supposedly didn't understand.

One of the other men said, " _Ja, ons het Emrys so dertig blokke van Pendragon. Geen kontak nie._ " and Arthur took it to mean, _Yes. We had Emrys at least thirty blocks from Pendragon. They haven't been in contact._

" _“Het hulle met mekaar gepraat?_ " the boss asked. _Have they spoken?_

The other man's answer was an uncertain shrug. " _Weet nie, miskien?_ "

The South African nodded at Bryn. "Were you watching Emrys?"

Bryn's sorcerer piped up. "Emrys left the house after this plonker --"

"Merlin left the house?" Arthur asked, and this time, he let outrage seep into his voice. His tone darkened when he said, "He didn't have my permission for that --"

"-- had a case with him, probably a laptop, I don't see how he couldn't have --"

"But it's unlikely," the hacker said, only to wither under the combined glare of all three South African men. He curled up onto himself and tapped listlessly at the keyboard, trying to look busy and distracted.

"Will." the South African snapped his fingers. "You know him. Is he capable of this?"

Will didn't answer for a long time. Arthur saw the muscle jump in his jaw, saw him waver between protecting his best mate and the mission that he'd been assigned to. "Could have done. If he knew about it. Did anyone monitor the calls? I mean, did this pillock send Merls a text to remote-bomb the data?"

The question twisted Bryn's expression into something cruel and nasty, but it was the mouthpiece who said, "Unfortunately, Emrys has done something to his phone, and monitoring both his and Pendragon's numbers has proven difficult, as Pendragon well knows."

Arthur gave the man a genial smile.

Bryn's mouth was pressed in a thin line. He jabbed the gun against Arthur's temple. "You _fucker_ , you're ruining it --"

Arthur didn't have time to wonder what Bryn meant by "it", because he was reacting to the tension he saw in Bryn's shoulders. Arthur twisted his body, knocking Bryn's arm out of the way.

The gun cracked a shot that was deafening from this close --

For a split second, Arthur thought he was too late. A searing pain burned across his head. His vision went black from the shock and the suffocating surge of adrenaline, and when he could see again, he was on one knee and Perceval was on the ground --

 

* * *

 

"The other guy with Bryn, he had a gun," Perceval said without emotion, though the team had already guessed from the way Arthur had described the third man, using code words that Morgana and Gwen didn't know or understand but hadn't asked about yet, that he was a sorcerer and he'd used magic against Perceval. "I would've been dead if Will hadn't knocked me down."

"Will," Gwaine said, and there was brittle ice in his tone. "It were Will, then?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin. Merlin had abandoned his work and was standing off to the side, his eyes never leaving Arthur's once all through the debriefing. Arthur saw the way Merlin's hands curled to dig into his crossed arms, how his expression darkened, how there seemed to be a fierce, vindictive cloud hanging over his head. For a moment, Arthur worried that Merlin would thunder into Bryn's house and finish them off in a single blow.

"He did what he had to do," Arthur said, and Perceval grudgingly nodded. "He maintained his cover. He made sure Perceval didn't get hurt --"

"You call this not getting hurt?" Gwaine snapped, pointing at Perceval's leg.

Merlin broke his silence then, and said, his voice like the sound of crushed glass, "If Will meant for him to get hurt, Perce would be on an operating table right now, his legs in bits, the doctors trying to figure out how to piece it back together."

No one said anything. Not even Gwaine.

Merlin ducked his head down, his chin to his chest, and his fingers dug deep in his arms until the skin had gone white from the pressure, but was beading red where his fingernails were drawing blood.

Arthur took another sip of his water and continued.

 

* * *

 

\-- and Bryn was standing over him, the gun trained at his head. Someone was shouting, "Don't shoot, don't --"

Arthur didn't know who it was, didn't much care. Perceval was down, there was a gun on his head, Bryn's sorcerer looked like he was about to cast a spell, and Arthur had to stop them both. He surged to his feet, catching Bryn by surprise; he grabbed Bryn's arm, twisted him around, pointed the gun at the sorcerer.

Bryn's reflex pulled the trigger; the sorcerer, Mahews, went down.

Arthur elbowed Bryn in the face, once, twice -- a third time because he was ugly and still conscious -- and quickly scanned the surrounding. The South African and his men were standing there, motionless, interested but otherwise detached, safe and secure behind some sort of shield that reminded Arthur of Trickler's shield at that fiasco in Algiers, glittering and golden. 

The man who was behind the South African -- his eyes were orange-red, his hand raised in the air.

The hacker was slumped behind the large red rolling toolbox, and Arthur didn't see why until he spotted the laptop on fire.

Sadly, the hard drive was unharmed.

"Easy, easy," Will said, holding out his hands toward Arthur, approaching Bryn at a crouch. Bryn moaned, holding his face.

"Fuckin' shood 'im," Bryn said. "Shood 'im. He brode my node. Shood him!"

"No one is shooting anyone until our business is concluded. You'll sort through the matter of the database, or we shoot _you_ ," the South African man said.

"Mind your moud, you bloody Dutchman. Y' don't give orders. Y' hop on one foot 'til I tell y' to fuckin' stop." 

The other man answered with a snort. "Surely, if I fail to see the purpose behind your existence, your master must, too." He took a step closer. "Don't be stupid. Don't get in our way."

"He's got Merlin," Will said urgently, keeping an eye on Arthur. "If Merlin's done something, he's the only one who can undo it. We're not going to get Merlin to fix it if we kill him, yeah? Don't you remember Merlin? How fucking stubborn he can be?"

Arthur reached for Perceval. Perceval was already on his feet, his face a grimace of pain. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Perceval said, and he said it in a tone that _he would fucking run if he had to. Or kick arse_. Arthur nodded.

"You've got what you want," Arthur said. "Now it's time for what I want. You know my number."

He glanced at the South African. The shield had dropped, and the two men behind the mouthpiece exchanged knowing looks. The mouthpiece was smirking, and he nodded slightly in something that might have been approval, or might have been a calculated challenge, but either way, he was a man who had seen what he had wanted to see. When he turned to Bryn, it was with disapproval. "Let them go."

 

* * *

 

"And you know the rest," Arthur said, rubbing his face. He put down his hands and looked around the room, at each and every one of his team members. At this point he included Morgana and Gwen, but he couldn't fathom what they were thinking, not when their eyes alternatively went round, then pinched in the brow. Even though no one spoke and he could tell that Excalibur were working out the implications of the previous night's events in their head, and they were coming to the same conclusion that Arthur had come to, that had nearly broken him.

Merlin was in danger.

Gwaine broke the silence with a quiet, "Fuck, no."

Arthur stared at his hands.

"Morgause's hacker isn't going to get a second chance at the database. I received a progress report late last night; I read it this morning. The network is secure and Lightforce offered preliminary recommendations to tighten up a few weaknesses that might be exploited. I doubt that the Colonel will be inclined to give them a second go. If they want the encryption key, they're going to go through me, and that means..."

"They're going to kill you," Morgana said with a hiss.

"They'll try," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin. They'd spoken more that morning, curled around each other, before finally coming downstairs, and it had devolved in an argument of who should protect whom, with either of them unwilling to leave the other's side. It might come to that in the end; Arthur wasn't going to let Merlin get out of his sight if he could help it, but he knew that he would have to look away at the right time to let the NWO at him.

It made him sick.

"There's enough in the background that the Directory rigged for Merlin for the NWO to figure out for themselves that if I'm hit, Merlin's going to disappear, and they're not going to risk that. They'll know that Merlin can wipe every electronic trace of himself and vanish," Arthur said tiredly. He hated that the NWO would go for Merlin. That they would use _Arthur_ against Merlin.

"I wager Will's probably driving that point home," Kay said quietly. "Because that's why he's there, isn't he?"

"One of the reasons, yeah," Arthur said. He might not be privy to exactly what Bayard had in mind when he'd chosen to involve Will, but it wasn't hard to come up with several plausible scenarios -- including one where Will had been instructed to betray not just Excalibur's mission, but _Merlin_ to the NWO if there was a chance that Will would be able to get himself a more secure position among them.

"You have to quit this," Morgana said, a shrill edge to her voice. "You can't keep doing this. It won't end well --"

Arthur saw the dark bags under her eyes, and a quick glance at Leon, who was trying to keep her calm, was all he needed to know that Morgana wasn't sleeping well, that her nightmares had returned. 

"If we don't _do_ something," Arthur said, making sure that he met everyone's eyes before staring at Morgana until she withered, "Then I guarantee you, it won't go well for _everyone_. Not just us."

"You can't mean to dangle Merlin at them," Gwaine said with a disbelieving huff. 

Arthur didn't -- couldn't -- look at Gwaine. Instead, he caught Merlin's eyes and bit his lip before he said, "I'm pulling everyone from their regular duties. Lance, Galahad, you stay with Gwen at all times. Leon, you and Geraint stay with Morgana. Take Pellinor and Lamorak with you, too. Gwaine, Kay, Perce, Bohrs, you're staying on me and Merlin, but so are Owain, Gareth, and Lucan. Bedivere, I want you to keep an eye on the Colonel. He has his own security team, but I don't trust them right now. Stay at a distance, don't let them notice you if you can."

Bedivere made a small, squeaking sound -- the sort a frightened mouse might make -- and turned a shade of pale, but he pressed his lips together firmly and nodded.

"Life goes on. We don't alter our schedules or our routines," Arthur said.

"Wouldn't we be safer at home?" Gwen asked. Her voice was steady, but her fingers were picking at her jeans.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, we have pre-planned escape routes and contingency plans no matter where we are. You're safest when you're with us. Keep your phones on and with you at all times."

"And Merlin?" Morgana asked.

"Don't worry about Merlin," Merlin said, his tone a little cold. Maybe hearing the details of the previous night's events had jarred him. Maybe it was that it had finally sunk in how much danger that he was in. Or maybe he was letting himself be upset, like he _should_ be upset, that Morgana had been such a bloody cow to him the night before.

Morgana turned around, her mouth falling open a little, outraged that someone would take that tone with her, but then she took in the distant, closed-off expression that Merlin wore, the way he turned away from the group, the way he isolated himself at his worktable, sitting with elbows on the table and his shoulders up, as if he didn't belong with the rest of them. "Merlin, I didn't --"

Merlin turned his head away even more under the pretence of reaching for another tool. The mechadragon, however, flared its wings wide, raised its head, and opened its mouth; Arthur supposed that the grinding gears were intended to be a growl.

Most of the team exchanged glances, aware that they'd missed something and not daring to ask what, and there was a moment of stillness right before both Arthur and Morgana jumped simultaneously in their seats, startled by their ringing phones.

Arthur checked the text message, half-expecting it to be Morgause or some bad news from the IT director who was supposed to contact him immediately if something -- anything -- else went wrong, but it was worse, far worse, than he'd even imagined.

"Well. In the spirit of more bad news," Arthur said, after exchanging a grimace with Morgana and turning to see Merlin looking at him with a raised brow, "It seems as if there's to be a family dinner this evening with the Colonel."

Merlin smirked faintly. "You poor sod."

"Speak for yourself, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said. "He's invited you."

The startled look that Merlin gave him said volumes. It was almost as if he wanted to turn around and run to the NWO with open arms.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**ooOOoo**

 

In the last hour, Merlin had changed his shirt six times, his trousers four, his pants twice, and his socks once. It wasn't that he was meeting the Colonel for the first time -- there had been that brief conversation following the War Games, full of heartwarming cold shoulder and smouldering why-are-you-in-my-presence. It was that he was meeting the Colonel as Arthur's boyfriend for the first time.

Merlin had reassured himself with, "Well, it's not like he knows we're together for real, he probably thinks this is just part of our cover, yeah?" and Arthur had given him a small little smile that was on this side of fond and simultaneously encouraging Merlin's delusions. It was Gwaine who shattered the fantasy when he clapped Merlin on the back.

"He knows you two are fucking, by the way," Gwaine said.

Arthur straightened where he'd been crouched over the kitchen table, writing whatever he was being told over the phone down on a piece of paper, and gave Gwaine a long-suffering look. That was when Merlin had felt genuinely sick and had gone for his first costume change.

He was now on number five. Six?

"You look _fine_ ," Arthur said tersely from the doorway. "This isn't a fashion show. It's a family dinner. The Colonel doesn't expect you to show up in uniform, he doesn't care if you're wearing jeans or dress trousers, and, for the love of God, he's a little colour blind, but that tie? I'm burning it."

Arthur walked over and cut the tie from Merlin's neck with a knife that Merlin hadn't known he'd had on his person, and tossed it on the bed. The small knife -- no more than three inches in length with a curved handle that the blade neatly slid into -- disappeared into Arthur's trouser pocket, and Arthur reached up to loosen the tie's knot and unbutton Merlin's shirt at the collar.

"It's not like any of my other boyfriends ever took me home to meet the parents," Merlin said sullenly, staring at the wreck of a tie. It wasn't his -- he suspected that someone had given it to Arthur as a gag gift, but it had ended up on Merlin's side of the walk-in closet by a freak accident of fashion disaster gravity.

"You've already met him."

"I wasn't sucking your cock at the time!" Merlin's voice was a painfully whiny squeak even to his own ears, and he ran his hands through his hair. A moment later, he ducked past Arthur and went to the dresser mirror to fix and flatten the spikes. He must have used up a metric tonne of hair gel to get it to stay down in a proper combed slick that he'd promptly washed out when he'd come down and _Perceval_ had burst out laughing. Bohrs had announced that Merlin looked like a proper1950s twat, and all that he was missing was a powder blue bow tie. 

Merlin had just managed to do something respectable with his hair on the third -- fourth? -- trip to the bathroom and now it was ruined. Again.

Arthur knocked Merlin's hands away and mussed up Merlin's hair even _more_ , and Merlin was sure that he was going to die the minute he crossed into the path of Uther's critical stare.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't mention that to him."

"It feels like I'm going to have to apologize!"

Arthur laughed. He _laughed_ , and Merlin could only stare at him, affronted. 

"I can't believe you. I'm having a meltdown, and you're making fun of me. If our positions were reversed, you know, I'd be sympathetic."

"I can't wait to meet your Mum," Arthur said with a smug smirk. "I've spoken to her a few times on the phone, remember? She sounds lovely, and her baking is wonderful, and without her I wouldn't have you, so she is already one of my favourite people in the world."

"My Mum won't pull out the latest Pendragon prototype and threaten to shoot me with it the second I cross the threshold," Merlin complained.

That was something that the Colonel had done to Gwaine not once, but twice, and one of the primary reasons why Gwaine was so bloody good at stealth. According to Gwaine, if he had never learned how to sneak in and out of the Pendragon house at all hours of the day and night, he would have turned out to be a piss-poor sniper, so he had at least _that_ to thank the Colonel for, despite everything.

"You're not Gwaine," Arthur said. "He's not going to shoot you."

"He might!"

Arthur sighed in exasperation. "You've met Gwaine, yeah? You know him? Had a chat or two with him? You've seen some of the shite he pulls? Now give me one good reason why my father wouldn't have threatened to shoot him _anyway_ , even if we hadn't been dating at the time."

Merlin raised a hand, about to answer the question with a long litany of reasons, but he closed his hand into a loose fist and pursed his lips when not a single possible option came to mind. 

"Exactly," Arthur said. "Besides, why are you even listening to Gwaine in the first place? He shouldn't be telling you anything. We haven't been together since we were _teenagers_ , and that was over a long time ago. Is he trying to --"

"Jesus, no," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. Arthur and Gwaine had been an item before joining the British Army -- never mind the SAS -- had been on the horizon, and that relationship had ended well before either of them signed up. When Merlin had found out, he'd been more surprised that the two of them had been together in the first place and that they had been together for a while. That they'd lasted as long as they had? It had been a surprise to everyone, even Arthur and Gwaine. "He's not trying to make me jealous. He's warning me. Did you know that the Colonel nearly strangled him, once?"

"Did you know that Gwaine made a habit of drinking my father's eighteen year-old Glenfiddich?"

"Erm, no. But did you know that the Colonel threw Gwaine out of the house butt naked in the middle of the winter?"

"Did you know that I hadn't even been home at the time, or that he'd been wanking on the Colonel's bed?"

Merlin paused. "No. Wait. He did what?"

"He'd put on my father's cap, found some of his medals, put on my dad's dress jacket, and rubbed one off all over my great-grandmother's quilt." Arthur visibly shuddered. "Believe me, no one was more disturbed about that than I was. I couldn't look Gwaine in the eye for weeks after. Neither could the Colonel, to be fair."

Merlin stared at Arthur for a long time. He snickered. "Gwaine had a crush on your dad?"

"Apparently." Arthur gave Merlin a hard look. "And you --"

"No crush. There will never be a crush. There's a definite potential of having the complete opposite of a crush," Merlin said, holding up his hands defensively. "The man scares me."

"Good," Arthur said, and there was a faint curl of a smile to his lips when he fixed Merlin's collar, even though _that_ was the only thing that looked all right to Merlin. Arthur's expression sobered, and he said, "No one outside the team will know that Morgana and Gwen know about the mission."

"And you're telling me this because me and Uther, we're like bosom buddies or something and you're worried I'll spill the beans?" Merlin asked. That was when, in the reflection of the mirror, he noticed that Arthur was making an utter mess of his collar. He shoved Arthur away gently. "Or you're telling me this because you're worried that you made the wrong decision?"

"You don't know Morgana --"

"Other than she's a bloody cow?" Merlin asked, managing -- but just barely -- to keep the bitterness out of his voice. What she'd said when Arthur had come home, _finally_ \-- that Merlin was a double agent, that he would betray the team, that he was probably betraying them now -- it had stung. He understood why she said it. He tried to ignore how he felt about it. But in the early morning light, now that he was no longer worrying about Arthur, that he had Arthur back, the words stuck to him and slow-burned like Greek Fire, sticky and hot and making it through the great stone fortifications, centimetre by centimetre.

Between receiving confirmation that Will had been involved in the attack, that Will had been the one to have injured Perceval, that Will was probably the only reason why Perceval and Arthur weren't dead right now, and the reality of Will's situation finally sinking in, Merlin didn't have a whole lot of patience for Morgana's games.

"She's a _conniving_ bloody cow," Arthur corrected. "Now that she knows, she's going to do something about it. It's going to interfere with my plans, somehow, I just know it, and --"

"You grew up with her," Merlin said. "Haven't you developed some sort of Anti-Morgana spray or something? Or maybe you have a master plan to foil her master plans? Don't tell me you haven't got anything --"

Arthur chuckled and smiled a small little smile that took away some of the severity of the situation, but the strain of it was still showing in the lines of his face, in the pinch of his brow, in the tension of his mouth. "Will you be all right tonight? I mean, with Morgana?"

"I'll grin and bear it, if that's what you mean," Merlin said, turning away. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and he looked a wreck now -- no tie, his hair mussed up, his collar wrinkled, his expression tired. Why didn't he just put on that shirt that had _We just shagged_ printed across the front? Never mind that they had fucked in the shower earlier. Merlin was almost positive that it showed _anyway_.

"No, that's not what I mean." The pause was long enough that Merlin turned around to look at Arthur. Finally, Arthur said, "I don't actually know what I mean."

"It's fine," Merlin said, shrugging.

"She shouldn't have said it," Arthur said.

"But she did and now it's out in the open and I can't help but wonder if she blurted it out in the heat of the moment because she was terrified for you or if she really means it," Merlin said. He regretted it almost as soon as he spoke out loud, because Arthur winced.

"I'm wondering the same thing," Arthur said, his voice faint.

"Well, no helping it now, is there?"

"You know that none of us --"

"Arthur," Merlin said, taking his arms and squeezing tight. "Stop. All right? Quit picking at the fucking scab. I know how she feels -- whether she meant it or not. I don't need to start wondering if the rest of the team thinks the same way. I don't need to start thinking that Leon might --"

"Or me?" 

"Just tell me you love me," Merlin said. "We'll sort the rest out later, yeah?"

"I love you," Arthur said without hesitation. "I trust you."

Merlin exhaled a short, shuddering breath that he hadn't known he was holding, and he closed his eyes. He'd needed to hear that more than he cared to admit, even to himself, and he bit his lower lip.

"Don't forget that," Arthur said. "Just. Don't. Because no matter what you have to do, remember? No matter what."

Merlin pressed his lips tightly together and nodded repeatedly. This was something that they hadn't talked about. This was something that they couldn't talk about. Arthur couldn't tell him what to do, he couldn't plan ahead -- there was nothing to plan ahead for when there were too many unpredictable variables. Arthur wouldn't be _there_ with Merlin if they were separated, if the NWO did manage to take Merlin, and in the very, very end, Merlin would be on his own.

"And the team. We're behind you all the way. You know that?"

"I know. I know." Merlin took Arthur's face in his hands and kissed him. He wanted to say, _It's going to suck balls_ or Gods, I just want this over with, or even _If there's another way -- I'll take it_ , but instead he let the kiss linger and pulled back to drown in Arthur's eyes. There was hidden misery in them, reflecting his own. "Shouldn't we get going?"

"I thought you weren't in a hurry," Arthur said, glancing at his watch in a weak pretence of emotional detachment at the distraction. "But, yes."

There was a bit of awkwardness getting to the Pendragon house, because it wasn't only Morgana and Leon and Arthur and Merlin who were going over for dinner; it was nearly half of Excalibur, too. Three cars from Arthur's group and two from Leon's filled the circular driveway; there were already two other cars present, and those, Merlin assumed, belonged to either Uther or his bodyguards. There was no telling what was in the garage.

Merlin hoped that there would be enough food.

Whatever the Pendragon house was, it wasn't Arthur's boyhood home; that honour belonged to a two-storey, semi-sprawling manor with a pool and enough hedging that Arthur hated lawn work with a passion. This house was a bloody mansion, three storeys tall and several houses wide, right in the middle of a gated property that was monitored by video cameras, satellite-mounted Star Wars missiles, and invisible ninjas.

Merlin tried not to stare.

Arthur led them through the front door without knocking; the bodyguard at the front entrance touched his earwig and spoke into his wrist and confirmed _the second party's arrival, all accounted for_. The front hall was large and overstated, like the main alcove at a museum, and as equally decorated with expensive pieces of art and wood paneling and _old things_ that probably came from an era that predated Merlin's family.

Gwaine and Perceval -- who had elected to ignore medical convention and had left his crutches behind, putting his trust in the salve that Merlin had mixed together under Gaius' step-by-step telephone instructions -- veered off to the kitchen while Kay and Bohrs followed them all the way to the dining room, taking their posts on the other end of the hall from Geraint, who had made himself comfortable with what looked to be a rickety old chair -- probably worth more than all of their army salaries, _combined_ \-- and a magazine.

Merlin was quickly learning that there was a routine to family dinners with the Colonel, starting with how they were conducted with military precision. Uther wasn't present but it was obvious that the place setting at the head of the table was meant for him; Leon and Morgana were on one side, two empty seats in the other.

While Morgana was dressed to the nines, everything impeccable from the Christian Dior dress suit she was wearing to the perfect line of lipstick, Leon was wearing dressed-down casuals -- a dark pair of trousers and a plain button-down shirt. Merlin was suddenly glad that Arthur had taken away his tie.

Morgana and Leon were holding hands under the table, leaning close to each other; despite the long night and the early morning and the stress of Arthur's mission and the subsequent revelations and the clusterfuck of a compromised company network, the two of them looked more relaxed than Merlin expected.

"You're late," Morgana said, raising an arched brow. Arthur checked the wall clock -- a honest-to-goodness Grandfather clock that was gilded at the edges with what was more gold than Merlin had seen in his entire life -- and sat down, glancing up at Merlin when he hesitated.

Arthur didn't answer Morgana until Merlin sat down. "We're not late. Your watch is fast. It's 2000 on the dot."

Merlin glanced at Arthur and wondered if Arthur had somehow scheduled Merlin's meltdown, their conversation and the horrible traffic snarl that had made Merlin fret until they finally were in range of the mansion's gates. He decided that he wouldn't put it past Arthur to have choreographed their day and their evening to fit in with the Colonel's mandatory family dinner.

No one reacted when Uther marched into the dining room -- literally _marched_ , at a fast clip-and-a-half -- and strode past them all without so much as a greeting glance before sitting down. Merlin nearly got to his feet, wishing he'd worn his uniform after all so that he could salute Uther like he felt he was supposed to do, but Arthur caught Merlin's arm before he jumped up and kept him in place.

Protocol, again, Merlin decided. Morgana was studying her nails; Leon was tapping the surface of the table, already an old hand at this. Arthur cast him a sidelong glance that was full of reassurance, and slowly, slowly, Merlin relaxed.

Particularly when he took in what Uther was wearing.

At every other occasion where Merlin couldn't help but be in the Colonel's general vicinity, the Pendragon patriarch wore forbidding business suits cut to make his already imposing frame all the more intimidating, dark, crisp tuxedoes that made him look like a retired (if not still very active) double-oh secret agent, or, at a particularly memorable banquet where both Arthur and Uther had been wearing their military brights, where Uther had glanced disgustedly at Arthur's more numerous medals and at Merlin's simple business suit in disapproval.

Merlin had had to bite down his tongue at the time to keep from apologizing and explaining that this was all because of the mission, that at any other circumstance he would be wearing his uniform, too. A stern glance from Arthur had warned Merlin to keep quiet, and Merlin had written off any attempt of raising himself in Uther's esteem as a lost cause.

But now?

Uther wasn't in uniform. He was in dress-casual: pressed trousers, a dark pinstripe shirt under a form-fitting cardigan, the buttons open at his throat. His hair was a little tousled; he wore tortoiseshell glasses, and his sleeves were pushed a little up his forearms, hinting that he'd been working before he'd noticed the time. A gold watch glinted in the light.

"There'll be no talking about work until after dinner," Uther said without preamble, and Morgana rolled her eyes. "I think we have all had enough of it for today, but there are a few additional items that we need to discuss."

"Of course," Arthur said automatically. Morgana was a little slower in returning her assent, and Leon and Merlin exchanged glances across the table. No one seemed to be waiting for them to respond, and that was a good thing, because Merlin didn't know what to say.

The first course was a butternut squash soup with a dollop of cream swirled in the middle; Merlin reminded himself not to stare at the woman in uniform who had brought out all their dishes. Were all the meals at the Pendragon House so bloody _posh_? Arthur had told him that they'd grown up with very little, that, sometimes, when Uther had been away on business to win one government contract or another, they'd subsided on a diet of sausages and beans until Morgana brought home a recipe book permanently borrowed from one of her friends' mums. Merlin supposed that now that the Colonel was a billionaire weapons designer, he could afford to spoil himself and his family.

No one spoke until the soup bowls were taken away, and it was Uther who broke the silence.

"How are your parents, Leon?" Uther asked, sipping his wine.

"They're well, sir," Leon said. "My mother's taking a Thai cooking class, and she's making my father try out everything she makes. My father thinks she's out to poison him."

"Wouldn't surprise me, the way the two bicker," Morgana said under her breath, covering her smile with a sip of her wine.

"If there was a competition of which generation bickered more, I think you and Leon would win easily," Arthur said, smirking.

"We don't bicker," Morgana said.

"Oh, sorry. You _converse_ ," Arthur said, correcting himself. "Loudly. Sometimes objects randomly fly out of your hands and break."

"Every couple bickers," Uther said. "As long as it's never over anything serious, it's a sign of a healthy relationship. Right, Merlin?"

Merlin's head snapped up, and he looked at Uther with wide round eyes. He glanced sidelong at Arthur, who quirked a brow, and finally found his voice to say, "Er. Yes, sir."

"I wonder how you two bicker," Morgana said, a teasing glint in her eye. 

Merlin reminded himself to be civil, but he couldn't help the sharp edge of his tone when he said, "You'll never know."

Arthur shifted his weight beside him, making the chair creak. Arthur's knee brushed against Merlin's leg, but whether it was in warning or in reassurance, Merlin didn't know, and he didn't care. He was still too angry that Morgana would think that he was working for the enemy. He knew it was irrational, that Morgana didn't know him, that they had barely had the opportunity to know each other, but with that simple, hurtful comment, Morgana had made certain that Merlin wouldn't ever want to.

Merlin had finally found a place where he could be himself, with a team who rallied around him, who welcomed him, who made him feel as if he belonged. And here Morgana was, with a single accusation, shaking Merlin's confidence by making him wonder if anyone else on the team felt the same way, making him doubt that he'd ever truly belong anywhere.

Morgana's smile wavered, faded behind a mask of uncertainty, and caught; the smile she gave now was forced and pasted-on, as if another word from Merlin would make it disappear entirely. Leon cleared his throat, and Arthur tapped a finger on the table before forcing himself to still.

"Is something going on between you two?" Uther asked calmly.

"No, sir," Merlin said, and he leaned out of the way when the server brought the second course. He didn't meet Morgana's gaze, but he knew that Arthur, beside him, had exhaled in a quiet sigh. Merlin didn't want to interpret that sound, not sure if it was Arthur's disapproval for not forgiving Morgana, or his disappointment that Merlin couldn't hold it together for one evening; and he didn't want to know which one it was. Instead, he looked down at his plate -- two thick slices of roast beef with a touch of perfect, succulent pink in the middle, ice cream scoops of smooth potato mash, and a mountain of steamed vegetables.

Everyone was served; the wine was topped up. Merlin sipped his wine, taking his cue from Arthur before beginning to tuck into the meal.

"And your father's business?" Uther asked, continuing the conversation as if there hadn't been an interruption.

"He's restructured, sir," Leon said, pausing in-between bites. "The recession hit him hard, but he's cut some of the fat from the company, gotten rid of some of the management team, discontinued the less profitable lines and focused on customer service and custom work."

"Good," Uther said with approval. "People want that sort of thing these days. A return to times when products lasted longer than their packaging."

"He got rid of that, too, sir. The packaging, I mean," Leon said, and Uther chuckled.

"Up for a Green award, then?"

"He's already won two, sir," Leon said.

"Congratulate him for me," Uther said.

"I will."

The silence that followed was short -- short enough that Merlin was blindsided when Uther asked, "And your mother, Merlin? How is she?"

"Um." Merlin finished chewing and put down his fork, wiping his hands on the cloth napkin. "Um. She's fine, sir."

"Still in the army, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir. A major now, sir. Spends half of her time at the veteran's hospital and the other half teaching. She's up for retirement soon, sir," Merlin said.

"She's had a long career, then?" Uther asked.

"Yes, sir," Merlin said, and he didn't bother to add anything else, because Uther probably knew his Mum's background better than Merlin did. Fortunately, there weren't any more questions -- at least not immediately -- and Merlin went back to his meal. Merlin heard Arthur's grimace, glanced sideways, and knew that he'd just given Uther an opening.

"And you? Do you have any career plans?" Uther asked. His tone was casual, his eyebrow arched as he reached for his wineglass, but there was a piercing look in his gaze, as if he'd just enacted a particularly shrewd chess move. Merlin could see it too; his queen was pinned down by a rook and a knight would easily come in to knock him off the board.

"Um."

"We've discussed it," Arthur said quietly, putting down his fork. "I've asked you to leave it to me, father."

"It's a simple question, Arthur. Does the man have future plans? Surely you recognize that my role as your parent is to ensure that the person with whom you have a long-term relationship with won't try to sponge off of you --"

"Father," Arthur said warningly, at the same time that Morgana said, "Not this again, Uther."

"I'm not treating Merlin any differently than I treated Leon the first time he came to family dinner," Uther said.

"Leave me out of this," Leon muttered under his breath.

"You _are_ in a long term relationship, aren't you?" Uther asked pointedly. "This isn't merely for the sake of the mission, is it?"

Arthur made a small strangled noise and looked around the dining room; Merlin immediately reached for his backpack -- which, damn it all, he hadn't brought with him -- in a fruitless search for a jammer. Leon scraped back his chair in an aborted attempt to stand up, and Morgana blinked prettily, pretending that she didn't know what was going on.

"Do calm down, the lot of you," Uther said, sounding exasperated. "My home is swept daily. You do understand that I am well aware of the importance of guarding against industrial espionage?"

"Is your house netted?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Netted?" Uther's tone had a bare hint of curiosity.

"Netted," Merlin repeated. He leaned an arm on the table, and looked past Arthur at Uther. "Sweeping the room only goes so far. With a property like yours, it would be easy for someone to get close enough for direct line of sight for a retail-grade parabolic microphone. Some of the higher-grade models don't even need to be that close, they work just fine through minimum obstacles in the way. And that's not to mention the number of listening devices that don't even pull a blip on a sweeper -- the ones that transmit in an uncommon frequency, usually right outside a generic sweeper's zone. Netting can be anything from a cheap copper cage to ultrafine wiring in a superconductor alloy that can disrupt the transmission of electromagnetic and radio signals." 

There was a long silence at the table.

"But you knew that already," Arthur said, flatly, warily, studying his father in the way that only a son could, knowing his father better than anyone else. Merlin saw how Arthur's eyes narrowed, how Arthur was coming to conclusions, how he was distilling everything that Uther was doing -- from wiping his mouth to precisely cutting his roast beef and adding a bit of sauerkraut to it -- and Merlin made the jump to the same conclusion.

"There's no netting," Merlin said. His magic confirmed his suspicion in the next breath. "There's no netting because you don't need netting. You're set up with a reverser -- great against scrambling radio signals from transmitting _out_ \--"

Merlin leaned back in his chair and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the number of bars -- he had gone from all-greens to barely a single bar, and that was probably only because of the tweaks he'd done to his phone -- and put his phone down on the table next to his wineglass. 

"Works against everything including legitimate signals, but not throttling them entirely. Just enough for people to complain about the lack of reception and for you to blow them off with a lament about being in a cellular dead zone or joke about a large undiscovered iron ore deposit right under the house," Merlin said. "And that's not all of it, either. You've got overlapping dampeners double-thick on the inside walls, screwing with parabolic reception so that the best that anyone listening in can manage is the snow-noise from a busted radio with a wire-hanger for an antennae."

Merlin was aware of Morgana eyeing him, of Leon watching him, of Uther putting down his utensils to listen with a small slash of a smirk across his mouth, but, more importantly, Arthur leaning back in his chair with a slight nod, letting Merlin handle things.

"Colonel Pendragon," Merlin said, pausing to clear his voice and also to see if he could make himself be a little bit _steadier_ , because he was about to tell Uther to fuck off in no uncertain terms. "I've been to enough interviews to recognize one, whether I knew about it or not, so if you're checking to see if I know my shite, then you should probably listen to Prof Monmouth when he says, _most brilliant kid I've ever taught_. But I don't doubt that you've got access to my records, sealed as they are, so you know better than to listen to Monmouth when he says, _I don't know what happened to him. I'm surprised, actually, I didn't think he'd turn into this much of a no-good bum_."

Uther was leaning back in his chair, an elbow on the armrest, his fingers over his mouth in a vain attempt to hide an amused smirk. Morgana coughed to cover up whatever it was that she was covering up -- Merlin didn't pay her any mind -- while Leon didn't bother.

"But I'll be plain. Yes, Arthur and I are in a long-term relationship. I'm not currently considering my options until my tour is up, and even then..." Merlin paused for effect. "Considering the number of patents in my name right now and the number that I will be holding in the future, if anyone's going to be sponging off anyone, it's going to be Arthur."

Arthur snorted beside him.

Merlin looked at Arthur, whose expression was wavering between incensed and amused. "No, seriously. Just watch the telecommunications industry shite themselves in a few years when they realize that they can't advance without new technology and new math, and that I've invented it already."

"You know, Arthur, I kind of can see Merlin as your sugar daddy," Leon said, and this time, instead of coughing to hide her laughter, Morgana choked on her wine.

Arthur opened his mouth a few times to retort, but he was at a loss for words. He finally raised a hand and dropped it in a _what can you do_ gesture.

Merlin reached over and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, smirking. He looked to see the Colonel watching them, a worrisome and calculating glint in his eyes. His shoulders were relaxed, though, and there was the pull of amusement on his lips. 

"If that'll be all, sir?" Merlin asked.

"That'll be all," Uther said after a long pause, and Merlin didn't think it was his imagination that Uther sounded both pleased and _satisfied_.

They made it through the main course, the conversation turning that much more relaxed, and there weren't any further pointed questions until the plates were cleared away, the wine glasses refreshed yet once again, and dessert -- a Pavlova so fluffy, Merlin thought it would float off his plate -- was served.

"So, Morgana, is there any reason why you've been keeping your left hand tucked under the table?"

Merlin glanced up in time to see Morgana sputter into her wine, nearly spilling it down the front of her outfit, and for Leon to nearly choke on his own spit. Arthur sat up at once, a small smirk on his lips telling Merlin everything that he needed to know -- whatever was going on with Leon and Morgana right now, Arthur wasn't surprised in the least.

And, of course, because he was Morgana's brother, he raised his wine glass and said, "Should I offer my congratulations now or later?"

Morgana's cheeks coloured. Leon cleared his throat and turned to look at Morgana, who was biting her lower lip. "I did suggest that we didn't wait until after dinner, because, well... You know Arthur."

"But you didn't --" Morgana pressed her lips together. "And I didn't --"

"It's _Arthur_ ," Leon said again. 

Morgana glared at Arthur with green eyes that might have flashed red with fury, if that was at all possible, and Merlin hid a grin behind his hand while Morgana composed herself. The entire while, Uther had remained silent and distant and even a little bit aloof, pretending that he wasn't listening to the flustered conversation between Leon and Morgana or even Arthur's teasing, that he hadn't already guessed what was going on right now.

"I had a speech planned," Morgana said, shooting another heated look in Arthur's direction, but that only served to make Arthur's smirk grow even wider and his smugness to spread. "But I suppose I should cut to the chase."

She paused and took Leon's hand; the two of them shared a fond look. The diamond ring was gleaming under the lights in the dining room. It wasn't ostentatious, it wasn't elaborate, it wasn't worth more than a serviceman's salary, but it might as well have been for the way it stood out on Morgana's finger, her hand slim and delicate in Leon's.

"Leon proposed to me this morning, and I've said yes."

Uther allowed his stoic façade to crack now, his expression changing from the forbidding army Colonel to a pleased father. A crow's nest of wrinkles appeared in the corner of his eyes, and his smile, though small, was genuine.

"Congratulations," he said, and there was _warmth_ in his voice. 

"Congratulations," Arthur said, getting to his feet. He walked around the table and gave Morgana a hug; he whispered into her ear but it was clear as day what he'd said: "It's about time."

Arthur extended a hand to Leon; the two shook before they laughed and abandoned propriety and traded a hug. Merlin was right behind him, though he released Morgana as soon as social conventions allowed. It wasn't soon enough, because he heard her whisper, "Merlin, I'm sorry."

Merlin turned his head away, pretending that he hadn't heard.

Uther broke from holding his daughter, as if he fully expected to never be able to do so again, and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of champagne. "I've been saving this for some time."

He twisted the foil from the cork and paused, giving the cork a long, considering look. He frowned slightly, and turned to Arthur.

"Perhaps you should advise your men not to come charging in with guns blazing if the cork pops?"

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

Arthur should have known that Merlin wasn't as disaffected as he appeared.

It wasn't just in the tone of his voice when he stopped Morgana's teasing before she could even begin -- a trick that Arthur sincerely hoped that Merlin would teach him one day, because nothing he'd tried in his life thus far had worked. It wasn't the way that he idly held the champagne glass that Uther had poured for him, or that he'd barely taken a sip of it -- Arthur frankly didn't blame him, because Uther had probably purchased the bottle the day that Morgana and Leon first started dating, and some vintages simply didn't age well. It wasn't the way that he'd declined Morgana's offer of taking the last Pavlova -- though, that was unusual on its own, since Merlin rarely passed up seconds and thirds on dessert.

It was the way he'd stood, stony and self-effacing, when no one was looking, his gaze cold and distant, a line of tension in his shoulders that Arthur didn't think he could massage out short of a jackhammer. It was the way that he had retreated, guarding and protecting himself, disconnecting from everyone else, no different than how he'd been in the beginning when he'd joined Excalibur, unsure of where he stood.

Damn it. Why did Morgana have to open her big gob and hurt Merlin? Why did she have to lash out the way she always lashed out when she was unbalanced, when she didn't know everything that there was to know? There were times that Arthur marvelled at his sister's ability to sniff out the weakest member of a group, to launch a crippling blow that would bring the rest of the barriers down, but this was not one of those times.

At least, it seemed, Morgana had not anticipated the way that the team rallied around Merlin; normally, in the face of her Blitzkrieg attack, everyone retreated, even the members of Excalibur, rather than to become the focus of her sharp tongue and even sharper mind. Merlin belonged to the team, he belonged to _Arthur_ , and reminding himself of that was all that Arthur could do to stop himself from reaching out and shaking Morgana within an inch of consciousness. He really wanted to ask why his brilliant sister could be so bloody stupid.

Arthur nudged Merlin with his arm; Merlin turned his head toward him, chin down, but the cloudiness in his eyes faded and his fortress crumbled, his expression soft and open the way it always was around Arthur. Arthur touched Merlin's wrist, ran his fingers down Merlin's hand; Merlin shifted, his hand palm-up, and Arthur greedily twined their fingers together.

 _I'm fine,_ Merlin seemed to be telling him, and Arthur nodded to himself. 

Despite everything, Arthur felt he should be thanking Morgana for making an aspect of his life easier -- _now_ , he could be a little bit more open about his intentions toward Merlin. Now, he could go and commission the engagement ring he wanted to get for Merlin. Now, he could drag Merlin down on the couch beside him to look through a few wedding venues. Now, he could openly ask Merlin what sort of places he'd like to visit so that Arthur could compile a list of honeymoon packages. He could plan his proposal, he could look into a bigger house -- because they would need a bigger house, not just for Merlin's workshop, but for all the other members of the team who would be visiting or staying over -- and they could decide where to register for wedding gifts.

It didn't matter that they were already married -- bonded through handfasting, he corrected himself. Arthur would have his way, and he'd warned Merlin several times to prepare himself. Maybe some of the things he wanted to do would have to wait until the mission was over, but they would happen.

He would make sure they did.

Arthur looked up, only distantly listening as Uther listed several things he hoped Morgana would do now that she was properly engaged -- compile a guest list that included several of his high-profile business contact, rent one of the larger and more opulent halls, and _definitely_ engage the services of a specific caterer, who could make the wedding cake that Morgana always dreamed of. That was when he saw the way that Morgana was watching them, her brows pinched in the middle of her forehead in speculation and confusion, her mouth in an unhappy downturn. If Arthur didn't know her better, he would say that she looked almost _apologetic._

"Have you given thoughts to the wedding party?" Uther asked, far more animated now than he had been in ages. Arthur knew that this was a side to the Colonel that Leon had only very rarely seen, that Merlin couldn't possibly imagine -- the moment when Uther decided to shed his military bearing and the rule-thumping article and section-following demeanour, and turned into a father, damn it, however flawed.

"We're keeping it small," Morgana said firmly, tearing her gaze away from Arthur and Merlin. "If Leon has his way, he'd have his entire team as groomsmen, and where am I going to find bridesmaids for all of them? I've thought to ask Gwen as my matron of honour --"

Arthur thought his sister looked a little shy and uncertain with that, as if Gwen might turn her down, but he knew that Gwen would not only jump at the chance, she would take a lot of the stress of wedding planning from Morgana. 

"And I was going to ask Arthur as my best man," Leon said.

" _Were going_ to ask?" Arthur asked, half-amused. "What, did you change your mind?"

"Seriously thinking of it, mate," Leon said with something of a grin, and he cast a besotted look at Morgana. Arthur scowled inwardly. He could see hints that there might have been a conversation between them involving Arthur and Merlin. Maybe even threats to call it all off if Merlin was involved --

Arthur felt himself tense uncomfortably. 

"But, no, this was kind of decided ages ago, before I even started dating Morgana," Leon said. "Would you? Be my best man?"

"I'd be honoured," Arthur said, letting go of Merlin's hand to reach over the table and shake Leon's. "Someone needs to protect you from the harpy when she turns into bridezilla."

"Arthur," Uther said with a frown, but the reprimand in his voice was mild.

Arthur sat down with a sheepish glance at Morgana, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

"And a date for the wedding?" Uther asked. "Has it been set?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Yes, sometime in the last few hours since Leon proposed, we booked a hall, went to the register, and sent out all the invitations. No, father. Of course there hasn't been a date set, but we're hoping as soon as possible."

To Arthur, it implied that she was strongly considering eloping. The way Leon dipped his eyes and glanced to the left certainly supported that assumption. A quick glance in Uther's direction showed that the Colonel hadn't noticed -- or was trying not to notice, on the off chance that if he didn't press, Morgana would change her mind.

Uther exhaled and sighed. "The moment you have a date --"

"You just want to brag to everyone," Morgana remarked.

"Don't you?" Arthur asked.

Morgana's cheeks reddened prettily. Of course, she wanted to brag. As soon as she left the room, she was going to text and call everyone she knew.

"As loathe as I am to put a damper on the celebration of good news," Uther said, his tone becoming more sombre, "I'm afraid we have some business to discuss."

"Is this regarding Lightforce?" Arthur asked.

"It's regarding the entire Electronic Securities fiasco," Uther said pointedly, but before Leon could ask, Uther raised a hand and shifted in his seat so that he was focusing on Merlin. "Merlin, as you do not work for Pendragon Consulting and have not signed even a consultancy NDA, I'm going to have to ask you to --"

Merlin stood up so quickly that the chair screeched as it was pushed back, and he took a step aside. "I'll go entertain myself, then."

"Don't wander off," Arthur said, but he couldn't keep the warning out of his tone. Letting Merlin out of his sight for the first time since realizing -- since _knowing_ \-- that the NWO would be targeting Merlin, well, the very idea of it made Arthur antsy.

"I thought I'd find Perce, see how he's doing," Merlin said. His eyes lingered on Arthur for a long moment, looking for approval, and Arthur nodded, his concern eased somewhat. But only just.

The Colonel waited until he heard Merlin's footsteps retreat and the coffee to be served before leaning back in his seat and fixing Arthur with a steady stare. "When he said you were in a serious relationship… just how serious?"

 _We may have skipped a few things but, by the way, for all intents and purposes, we're married,_ Arthur wanted to say, but instead, he shifted in his seat. Arthur could feel the weight of Morgana's attention on him, judging and measuring as if trying to puzzle out the truth, but choose not to acknowledge her. He said simply, "Very."

The Colonel gave Arthur a long, steady stare that ended with a curt nod. "Zussman advised us that the final report wouldn't be in for three more days, but that he gave you a verbal summary of the audit results?"

"He did," Arthur said, reaching into his pocket for his phone -- his _new_ phone, since the one that he'd had to abandon during the NWO's scavenger hunt had been destroyed. It was, for all intents and purposes, similar to his last, with beefed up security and fewer fingerprints. He pulled up his notes from the conversation with the lead auditor from Lightforce, even though he had memorized them. "He gave a number of recommendations for tightening our security. Most are easily implemented; I have forwarded the list to Janis Skoog in our ES division with a due date of this coming Monday. They'll have the weekend to review options, select the most feasible, beta test. It will be live by Tuesday morning. Some of the other recommendations from Lightforce are dubious, including the suggestion to upgrade our firewalls using their software, and to do a long-term overhaul using their securities infrastructure as a base to our operating system."

"Why are they dubious?"

"It's not explicitly stated in the information brochure that they gave us, but their firewall software continuously pings the mother ship over at Lightforce, and that's a backdoor just begging to be exploited. The securities infrastructure, if we opt to go this route, will cost three quarters of a million pounds for the first year alone and one quarter for every year hereafter, require an installation at each of our divisions and offices to ensure cross compatibility, with service and network disruptions that can extend to several weeks at a time as each module is brought online. We would have no access to the root coding of this infrastructure, and Lightforce would be remote-accessing our systems, our databases, and our files on a regular basis to…"

Arthur glanced at his phone under the pretence of verifying what Zussman had said, when in reality, he was texting Merlin.

_r u allrght?_

"And I quote, _continuously monitor the integrity of the security system and periodically audit and review file access and retrieval, maintain firm control over user password and building clearances_." Arthur paused dramatically, lowering his phone and looking over at Leon. Leon had been there when Zussman had given them the rundown; when Zussman had left, Leon shut the door on him, and snorted.

The Colonel, however, bore a blank expression. He might be more technologically-savvy than most men his age, but when it came right down to it, Uther simply didn't _care_ enough. Luckily, he was aware of the importance and was content to leave the business of computers and electronic security to others -- usually Arthur or one of the other business heads.

Arthur spared his father the need of having to ask. "This essentially means that all of our internal servers, the networks, each of our divisions and departments, all of our databases, our directories, our files, _everything_ , regardless of security clearance required for access, would become open book to anyone at Lightforce who happens to have the right encryption key and password -- which I can only assume is everyone in the department who would be handling our files, and these people would circumvent our own internal security checks."

The Colonel's lips twisted in distaste.

"He coincidentally happened to have a demo DVD of the software on hand for review. Skoog took one look at it and gave it back to me; he is disinclined to dump an infrastructure that we built from the ground up and customized and is far more stable than anything Lightforce might mass produce to try to fit a wide list of requirement from their clients, particularly since he quoted me an unacceptable number as the amount of man-hours required for training and bringing up to speed. Out of curiosity, I gave the demo DVD to Merlin --"

The Colonel's eyebrow twitched, but since it wasn't proprietary Pendragon Consulting information, he didn't do much else.

"-- and told him to have at it." Arthur paused, and gave everyone at the table a meaningful look. "If anyone repeats it, I'll deny it to an inch of my life, but Merlin went into the Lightforce database to find out what companies were currently using this sparkling brand-new ultra-secure infrastructure setup, spent less than five minutes cracking the encrypted passwords that were on the server, and completely bypassed the target company's firewalls. All this without Lightforce's own security system even realizing that Merlin was loitering in their backdoor."

Arthur let the silence stretch. The Colonel's expression twisted into something uncomfortable, torn between several emotions. Either Uther was trying not to chortle, or he was expressing outrage on Lightforce's benefit, but either way, Arthur pressed on.

"Unfortunately, the government requires that all of its contractors receive periodic auditing from their personally-vetted ES company -- usually the cheapest bidder, I remind you, which makes them particularly culpable to bribery --"

The Colonel's eyes narrowed.

"Not that I'm accusing anyone, I'm just stating a possibility," Arthur said. "But for now, I'm going to recommend that we start looking for another company to subcontract the more-critical and non-government-mandated aspects of our work to, and in the meantime, take this opportunity to expand our own ES division. We'll leave Skoog in charge of our company infrastructure, but we need an associated R&D department and an electronic counterattack team. In the long run, our clients will have more faith in our products if we can ensure that we are secure from the ground up."

Uther didn't speak for a long time. Arthur took the opportunity to sip his coffee and glance at his text phone, which had vibrated while he had been speaking. 

_Perce is OK_ , Merlin had answered, which didn't answer Arthur's question at all. Arthur resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I want a budget drawn up. Projections, growth, the whole lot," Uther said. "You'll present it to the board."

"I'll get on the numbers," Leon said. He put his coffee down and added, "If I could make an additional suggestion?"

"By all means," the Colonel said.

"Consider securing Merlin as a consultant, at least for now and the foreseeable future. If there's anyone who understands this, it's Merlin," Leon said, choosing his words carefully.

"I've heard he was behind the construction of the Crack Boxes," the Colonel said, and Arthur glanced heavenward at the blatant disregard of army secrets. Morgana didn't seem to be confused or surprised, so she'd probably found out about them before now, but that didn't fill Arthur with a whole lot of confidence.

Neither Leon nor Arthur confirmed the Colonel's words.

"I'll look into it. Arthur, see if he'll be persuaded," Uther said.

"I'll discuss it with him," Arthur said, but he wasn't making any promises. There were other priorities right now. He glanced at Morgana, half-expecting her to blurt out how she believed this was all a bad idea, that Merlin _was a double agent_ , but she was oddly silent.

Maybe Leon had talked some sense into her.

"We'll need several levels of damage control," Arthur said. "If Lightforce gets wind that we're pulling out a sizeable chunk of our contract work, they might revise the final report before the government gets a copy -- before _we_ get our own copy. Likewise, they might make a few disparaging remarks about our system to the public, and reveal details about our network to our competitors."

"Leave that to me," Morgana said with a smirk. There was a reason why the Colonel had named Morgana the VP of Public Relations -- and Arthur was very happy to never having been one of her targets when other companies messed with Pendragon Consulting.

Arthur gave her a quick nod.

The Colonel regarded them for a long moment, neither approving or disapproving; he was the sort of commander who excelled in the battlefield because he had always delegated the work to the most qualified person, and it was no different in business. He didn't tell Arthur or Leon how to do their jobs; he wouldn't dare advise Morgana of her approach, but he made a gesture of approval to all three of them to indicate that he was behind their plans.

"Do we have a clear idea of the cause of all this?" the Colonel asked.

 _You_ , Arthur wanted to say, and while Leon would never accuse his future father-in-law, Morgana certainly would. But she bit her tongue and remained silent, keeping good on her promise to pretend that she didn't know what was going on in the background. Instead, Arthur kept his face blank of any emotion and shook his head. 

The believability behind telling a lie was mixing it with a grain of truth, and even though everyone at the table, Uther included, were aware of what had _really_ happened, it was best if, for the moment, Uther remained unaware that Arthur _knew_. Otherwise, it would get back to Bayard, and Bayard might cover up his trail before Arthur got his hands on evidence. Not that it would matter much once he did --

First, he started with the truth. "Skoog is convinced that there was a high-level hacking attempt, backed up with enough skill and know-how to get through most of the lines of defence before being stopped by the security protocols that ultimately caused the system crash."

Uther nodded, looking concerned.

Then, he lied. "However, when it comes to identifying the perpetrator, I have to say that we have no information whatsoever and no recourse in recovering any clues to their identity or location. There was just enough damage to the auditing logs that automatic pingbacks from the defensive firewalls were corrupted. We may never know how the hacker got through in the first place, but, fortunately, as near as we can determine, we didn't lose any pertinent information or any of the secure files."

Arthur paused, and stared down at his hands before looking up again.

"The fact remains, the attack _did_ occur, and although we have no idea why it happened or what they were after, the odds are high that they will try again. Skoog is doing his best to implement the most important security add-ons right away, particularly in the areas where the hacking appeared to be focusing, but it'll still be some time before the network is completely secure again." 

Uther exhaled a long breath.

"Colonel," Arthur said, addressing his father by his former rank the way he always did when they talked business, "If any of our rivals are behind this, it's because they believe we have something that they absolutely need to have, and they need to get to the finish line first. Is anything, and I mean _anything_ on our servers that would warrant this sort of direct attack?"

Arthur didn't know if the Colonel realized how slow and obtuse that Arthur was deliberately being, but he hoped that by distancing this occurrence from their actual mission, he was also distancing Bayard from the company. He did not need his so-called uncle using Pendragon Consulting as a bargaining chip in some sort of unknown, magical war, and he most certainly did not need his father to be involved in any way. Bayard was an arse to have brought Uther in, but it was going to stop, and it was going to stop on Arthur's terms.

The Colonel's expression shifted to one of growing concern, as if something troubling had crossed his mind. Arthur hoped it was something along the lines of, _I never did check to see if any of the other companies were involved in this; and if they are, no doubt they would try to profit from an attack on our confidential databases_. That alone would set the Colonel to a frothing temper and likely -- hopefully -- bar Bayard from any further meddling.

The Colonel lowered his arm, letting his hand fall to the table in a loose fist. "There... may be a few promising prototypes --"

"What sort of prototypes?" Arthur asked. He put his coffee cup aside and leaned an elbow on the table, twisting his body so that he faced the Colonel while keeping Leon and Morgana in view. Morgana's brows were pinched into a frown, and Leon glanced down at the remnants of his cup like a man who was searching for the alcohol that should be in there right now. "I've reviewed all the prototypes, sir, and I'm only aware of the usual design improvements on the agenda. Is there something I'm unaware of?"

There was a long silence, stretching like a stalemate, or like the minute before High Noon when the cowboys waited anxiously for the countdown and the gun draw.

"New technology," Uther said after a long instant. And that was it.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck in irritation. He suspected that getting any information out of the Colonel, directly or indirectly, would amount on the scale of pulling teeth or inhumane torture, but he wasn't sure for whom -- himself or Uther. "What sort of technology?"

Uther sighed the sigh of a long-suffering man who shouldn't have to explain, but was deigning to do so only because he saw the benefit for himself, and said, "The lab is calling it a disruptor."

"Like in Star Trek?" Arthur asked. At the Colonel's blank look, Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, and asked, "What does the disruptor do?"

"It's designed to emit a multi-frequency, non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse, with a variable range and a targeted directional trigger," Uther said, stopping to let all the fancy words sink in. 

Arthur's eyes narrowed in consideration. An EMP -- electromagnetic pulse -- could shut down electronics. It didn't matter where. An entire country could go down because a solar flare hit it the wrong way. A fighter pilot might have to eject if the EMP at the tail-end of a nuclear blast catches up to them. Electronics damaged this way were largely irreparable and needed to be replaced. 

It was a costly undertaking on so many levels. Businesses could go bankrupt, cities would be without power, a state of emergency would be raised, and...

Arthur twitched involuntarily. All sorts of post-apocalyptic scenes came to mind, and none of them pleasant by any definition of the world.

A directional EMP pulse meant that it could be used on a specific target -- something that was largely unheard of short of dropping a nuclear bomb in the vicinity. Arthur chilled, because after hearing the propaganda, he knew, almost with certainty, that this was what the NWO was after. The ability to take down whatever they wanted -- power sources, banks, industries --

Communication. 

Arthur could easily tick off on his fingers the number of military bodies -- never mind governments -- who would pay the highest price for a device like that. He could also name several companies who would go to extremes in order to _develop_ technology like that.

Cenred King, for example. The partial schematics that King had given Arthur was at the forefront of his mind, now, and Arthur hoped that it didn't show on his face.

"How powerful is it?" Arthur asked. He glanced at Leon, saw that Leon had caught on nearly as quickly as Arthur, but he didn't think that Morgana was far behind. "How far along is the development?"

"I'm told that it's nearly completed," the Colonel said reluctantly, and Arthur had the gut feeling that Uther was dragging this out as much as possible, that these were some sort of theatrics orchestrated by Bayard yet once again.

_Damn it._

"The power source is the limiting factor," Uther continued. "Distance, pulse frequency, affected area, the phase of the moon -- more often than not, preliminary tests have determined that most of the power options will not last much beyond a single shot."

Sometimes a single shot was all that was needed, Arthur knew, but if the Colonel was mocking the technology's stability with random comments, even that one shot was likely to be useless and ineffective. He had the impression of _waste of time and money_ in the Colonel's tone, but he also heard _if anyone ever got their hands on this technology_ and _damn Bayard_.

Arthur went on a slightly different tact -- petulant and annoyed. "How come I didn't know about this?"

"We were hardly going to advise you of this new development through unsecured phone calls and emails while you were in the field, were we?" the Colonel asked dryly. He leaned forward. "Quite frankly, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. They failed their last field test -- the power source nearly burned down a bunker, for God's sake. We've already put millions in the development. If they can't come up with a viable alternative for the disruptor's power source, the project will be shelved."

"How long do they have?" Leon asked.

"Two weeks," the Colonel said. "Not a day more."

Arthur tapped his finger on the table, and it was the only sound in the room, a steady thunk-thunk-thunk as he exchanged a long look with Leon in something most others would term silent communication. It might as well be; Leon and Arthur had virtually grown up together, and there had been some missions where Leon had read Arthur's mind.

"Where's the lab?"

"In France," the Colonel said, and Arthur knew which one right away; not the main manufacturing plant just outside of Paris, but in one of the converted farmhouses out in the field, far from prying eyes. The security there was rumoured to be phenomenal -- a full level above what any of the other labs had, with their own, isolated network and team of IT professionals managing server security.

"And the tests? In the same location?" 

The Colonel nodded. 

"You're expected to attend?"

"Of course."

Arthur nodded, already seeing the outcome unfold before he even had a plan in place. What he couldn't understand was why the Colonel was playing this game; obviously Bayard was pulling the strings in the background. A quick glance in Morgana's direction resolved that, because Uther likely didn't know that Morgana knew about their mission, and was trying to protect her with a shroud of ignorance.

Uther was many things: cold, cruel, calculating. But at heart, where no one could see it, he was still a father -- even if he was a shite father who protected one but threw the other under the wheels of the oncoming tank.

"I'll take your place," Arthur said.

"Arthur. No," Morgana said, her voice almost in a high-pitched shriek. At the same time, the Colonel said, "Absolutely not."

Arthur gave Morgana a meaningful look that he hoped Uther would interpret as nothing more than _shut it, this isn't any of your business_ and continued as if neither of them had spoken. "I'll not only be taking your place, sir, but I'll be taking my team over to France by the end of the week. Let me deal with this. If you have millions of dollars already staked into this project, there's no point in throwing it all away. With my reputation --"

For _once_ , Arthur was glad that at the moment, his own company saw him as a walking nightmare.

"-- the odds are they'll be far more worried about my presence than yours. And if I'm breathing down their necks, they might be motivated into demonstrating a device that actually functions. I have an ulterior motive for this, Colonel," Arthur said, holding up a hand when Uther started to protest. "And it tracks back to the attack on our server. If they're after this prototype, and from the sounds of it, they most certainly are, they've already failed in their attempt to get the information from our database. With all the heightened security at the head office, they're not going to try again. And if they're this close to possibly demonstrating a working prototype, it's going to call for desperate measures. They're going to try to get their hands on it directly."

Never mind the impossibility of cracking the French lab's security net, electronic or otherwise.

"If it comes down to espionage, we want to catch them red-handed, sir. Then, and only then, will we have a case against them."

The Colonel leaned back in his chair, his brow weighed down in thought. He steepled his hands, pursed his lips in consideration, his eyes bright and sharp with decision. Finally, he turned to Morgana.

"Why don't you go and find Merlin? Show him around the house. There are a few things I'd like to discuss with Arthur and Leon."

It was a cold, harsh dismissal, and it was painfully obvious to Arthur why he was sending Morgana away; he wanted to discuss the mission in more detail beyond generalities without fear that Morgana would overhear something she wasn't meant to. Morgana's chin raised in defiance, her jaw set, her lips thin. But she rose without a word and left the room.

There was something in the line of her spine, the uncertain emotion that had flit across her angry gaze, that made Arthur wonder why she was so afraid.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

Merlin left the dining room with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed. He gave Kay and Bohrs a brief nod as he walked past, muttered, "Business meeting, got out of there before they hooked me in," and headed toward the kitchen.

Gwaine was flirting mercilessly with one of the serving staff whose cheeks were so red she could probably light up an entire district on her level of mortification alone. Gwaine shot Merlin a raised brow at his arrival, and continued to harass the poor girl while she finished scrubbing the large roasting pan and dashed out of the room, much to the amusement of Uther's bodyguards lingering nearby. Perceval was sitting at the low kitchen table, nestled in an alcove, plates and glasses discarded on the table. His leg was up on a chair, but he looked a lot more pain-free than he did earlier in the day.

Merlin slid into the bench next to him, shoving aside the dirty dishes, crossed his arms on the table, and watched Gwaine wriggle amused brows at the other bodyguards. Uther's men were of the big, broad-shouldered, crush-a-bowling-ball with one hand variety, tucked into dark suits that were tailored for their measurements, because off-the-rack didn't exist for them. Merlin pegged them as infantry based on their girt and heft alone; they dwarfed Gwaine in more than height, but they were about even in size with Perceval.

That was probably the only reason why they left Perceval to take up the entire comfortable bench seat and hog one of the plush sitting chairs for his leg; they'd pegged him for one of their own.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Merlin watched in silence while Gwaine and one of the other bodyguards -- a man named Howard with close-shorn hair and a jacket that didn't quite fit loosely enough in the shoulders -- argued over the remote. There was a telly tucked against the wall, half-hidden behind exquisite cabinetry and surrounded by gleaming marble tile. The screen wasn't much bigger than the nearby microwave, the sound was barely over a murmur, and it looked like Gwaine had settled the argument by finding a channel with a footie game.

"All right, mate?" Perceval asked.

"All right," Merlin said, glancing at him sidelong. "I should be asking you that."

Perceval gestured toward his leg. "I don't know what's in that stuff you made, but if you and Gaius ever want to make a bloody fortune, you should market it. I'm not feeling any pain --"

"Doesn't mean you've got liberty to overdo it," Merlin warned. He knew that Gaius' salves and potions were potent, made more so by judicious use of a certain _secret ingredient_ , but even the best that Gaius or the other Druids could muster was only a temporary solution. Bones still needed to knit, muscles needed to mend, tissues needed to heal. There was no shortcut for that. The salve that Merlin had made minimized the pain by encouraging the bruise to break up, the swelling to go down, and the blood flow to increase.

"'Course not," Perceval said amiably. "But it works a far sight better than the drugs they gave me over at Casualty."

Merlin half-smiled, half-nodded, and lowered his head. His voice was soft when he said, "You know Will didn't --"

"He did what he had to," Perceval said. "Could've done worse."

The conversation ended there, stretching into a silence full of Gwaine cheering for one team and Thomas cheering for another, though from the sounds of it, Gwaine was rooting for whoever was in the lead, and swearing up and down that he'd been for them all along.

Perceval tilted his head sharply. "So what are you doing in here? The Colonel kicked you out for getting your cutlery mixed up?"

"Business," Merlin said. "I'm not an employee, so I got kicked out."

"Why aren't you? An employee, I mean," Perceval said, shifting slightly on the bench seat. "You know it's a given, if you want it?"

"Yeah, I do," Merlin said, because Arthur had made it clear on more than one occasion since the whole _why isn't Merlin on the payroll_ issue came up the first time. Arthur settled for, officially, Merlin worked for Arthur while undercover, and technically that meant he worked for Pendragon, and they'd figure it all out later, when the mission was over. "Doesn't matter. I'm not keen on sitting in on market share conversations and whose hostile takeover we're planning on. Narrowly escaped a fate worse than death, you know."

"You and me both," Perceval said. He was quiet for a long time before he reached out and neatly stacked the dirty dishes. He glanced toward Uther's bodyguards, making sure they were out of earshot, and lowered his tone. "You all right, though?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" There was a long, laundry list of reason why Merlin wasn't all right, but the ones foremost on his mind included worrying about how deep Will was getting into with the NWO, the stinging hurt of Morgana's flippant accusation, the impromptu interview that Uther pulled, and the realization that, once the mission was over, once their army tours were finished, once everything was over and done with and they could get on with their lives, Merlin was _still_ going to have to endure Morgana.

Maybe it should have sunk in before now, but he hadn't looked past Arthur. He was bound to Arthur, not the whole bloody family, but Morgana and Leon's engagement -- and Merlin was chuffed for them, he really was, especially Leon, because he knew that Leon had been waiting and waiting for the right time to propose, and the bugger finally decided to get it done with already -- made him wonder if he would always sit across the table from Morgana at dinner and wonder if she would ever trust him.

He shrugged to himself. It wasn't as if he'd ever given her a reason to.

"Have you seen the house?" Perceval asked. 

"Not yet, no," Merlin said. "Ushered right for the butcher's block, remember?"

"How'd that go?"

"Oh, went aces," Merlin said. "I only got stabbed with the rusty blade twice, and he were kind enough to sharpen the point a little and jab the tetanus shot in my arm after."

"You got off lucky," Gwaine said over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the footie game.

"I wouldn't call it lucky," Merlin said with a snort. "I think he's just waiting to get at me alone, without witnesses."

"If that happens, run," Gwaine said. "Run far. Don't look back."

"That's helpful, thanks," Merlin said with a quiet groan, because he really didn't want to think about how awkward the entire dinner had been. Had he really told his future father-in-law to _shove off_? And he'd gotten away with it?

Merlin stared at a spot on the table and scratched at it with his fingernail until he thought he should probably stop before he dug in a deep gouge that he'd probably have to pay a fortune to repair, and he didn't jolt out of the endless loop of _Gods, I fucked up bad, but on the bright side we have to be going soon, yeah?_ until Perceval elbowed him in the arm.

The blow nearly knocked him off the bench seat, and when he glanced up again, Thomas was standing in the doorway talking to the other bodyguard, and Gwaine had switched the channel to something that looked suspiciously like a soap opera. Merlin glanced around to get a sense of how long he'd been in his daze, and guessed that it must have been quite a while, because the dirty dishes at the table were gone, and the server had braved a return to the kitchen and had resumed doing the dishes.

"I need to stretch my legs, you want a tour?" Perceval didn't wait for an answer, he pulled his leg from the chair, tested it, and stood up. Gwaine whirled around, raised his eyebrows in concern, but Perceval shook his head and waved him off, tilting his head toward Merlin.

"All right, but if the pipsqueak can't take your weight, you call me, yeah?" Gwaine said lightly, giving Perceval a meaningful look.

"Oi, who are you calling a pipsqueak?" Merlin asked, sliding from the bench seat and self-consciously smoothing his hands down his shirt. Sure, compared to Gwaine and Perceval, Merlin didn't have nearly as much muscle, but he could hold his own -- and he'd proven it on more than one occasion.

Gwaine winked at him. "Who do you think?"

Merlin gave him a two-fingered gesture and trailed after Perceval. For a while, Merlin watched Perceval walk, searching for the slightest sign of a limp, but he didn't fall in with Perceval until they'd reached the end of the corridor and did an about turn. Neither one of them said anything until they'd reached a large sitting room that didn't look like it had ever been sat in.

"He doesn't mean it, you know," Perceval said suddenly, and Merlin glanced up, his cheeks heating up. He hadn't realized that he'd been brooding until he'd been caught out. "Gwaine, I mean. He's punchy tonight, that's all. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night, kept thinking that he'd kick me in the leg. I woke up this morning, he was all curled up on the floor because he thought he'd hurt me or something in his sleep."

Merlin smirked a little, but his amusement faded nearly as quickly as it came. He shrugged. "I think we're all punchy right now."

"Some more than others," Perceval said. He led the way through the sitting room to _another_ sitting room. "Like Morgana."

Merlin cast his eyes heavenward and shook his head. "What, does everyone know what she said?"

"No secrets on the team, remember?" Perceval shot him a grin. "You know none of us listen to her, yeah?"

"Bollocks," Merlin said. "Don't, Perce. I know you do."

"All right, fine, you want the truth of it? We listen to her, but not when she's wrong. And she's wrong, you know."

Merlin walked around a table that looked as if it were carved out of a single block of wood; he couldn't tell where the screws were. He sat down heavily on a sofa so disused, it nearly bounced him off. It still smelled new. "Well, obviously _I_ know that. And I know she was just scared. Stupid shite comes out of people's mouths when they're scared."

"Like that time Lamorak blamed Gareth for getting them stuck in a dead end? Pinned down they were, just because Gareth led them right down that road and clean into the rebels' line of fire? Weren't his fault the map he got were wrong in the first place," Perceval said, sitting down heavily next to Merlin. He rolled up his trouser leg and studied it for a long time. "Does this look less purple to you?"

"Yeah, some." Merlin slumped down on the couch, resisting the urge to put his feet up on the table, because it was guaranteed that Uther would walk in right then and glower at him disapprovingly. He still didn't know what to make of the Colonel and couldn't tell if he'd bollocksed up the first dinner with Arthur's father, but Arthur hadn't seemed concerned, and Uther hadn't tried to shoot him. 

He closed his eyes and rubbed his head to try to focus on what Perceval said. Nearly everyone on the team had heard Lamorak lash out over the comm lines. He'd given Gareth a right dressing down -- _you right pillock, d'ya have shite for brains or something? Who the bloody fuck leads us into an ambush? You! That's who! Because you're about as bright as a shite-covered penny, that's why!_ \-- until Gareth ran out of apologies and patience and slapped Lamorak and said, _"You bloody ninny, it's just a little bit of rain, you think you'd melt like the Wicked Witch or something. Now shut it and follow me, I see a way out."_

It was hard to believe that with all their experience in the field, the members of Excalibur still got scared, but they did. And when they were scared, it was nearly always under the most ridiculous of circumstances, the ones when they know they'd walk out of it alive and could afford a few seconds to freak the fuck out while they caught their breath and went right back into the thick.

The other times were _after_ , when everyone was safe and secure, when they sat alone on their bunks and couldn't close their eyes, a sheen of sweat covering them despite the cool desert air, because the adrenaline was burning the moment into memory and making it permanent, to be played over and over again years later out of the blue because some random thing reminded them of that moment.

Those were worse.

Arthur had those moments more than anyone on the team. He couldn't lose his shite on the battlefield, so he held it all together until the barracks, but Merlin hadn't known how deep Arthur's fear had been buried until he'd woken up in the middle of the night to Arthur's stifled scream.

Morgana didn't have that. She didn't have the training to deal with the fear. She couldn't compartmentalize it the way the members of the team could. She lashed out -- and when she lashed out, those sharp little blades at the other end of her cat-o'-nine-tails dug in and twisted and tore.

"I could've probably slapped her," Merlin said after a long moment.

"Perhaps you should have," Morgana said from behind them, and Merlin simultaneously jumped from his seat and wished the ground would swallow him up _right the fuck now_. What was it with him tonight? First he talks back to bloody Colonel Uther _fucking_ Pendragon, and now he's caught out talking about hitting one of his best mates' fiancée? Granted, she probably deserved it, but why couldn't he have kept it in his head?

Merlin took a step back and bumped into the long coffee table, his escape barred. He shut his eyes for an instant, shook his head, and said, "I'm sorry. That -- that's taken out of context. It isn't as bad as it sounds. It's just -- a really long story and I'm making it worse so I'll just shut up now. Sorry again."

Perceval stood up, his weight on his good leg, glancing between Morgana and Merlin with the guilt of a man who had brought up the topic and should have left enough alone, but couldn't be thought of as anything but innocent because he wasn't the one who'd been caught out trying to see how well his foot would fit in his mouth. "Morgana --"

"Perceval," Morgana said sweetly -- so sweetly, Merlin could feel cavities forming -- and tilted her head. "I was just walking by when I saw my brother's boyfriend sitting here, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to chat with him. It's not like we've spent much time together, have we, Merlin?"

"No, we haven't," Merlin said carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral. He tried to shift his weight to subtly move from around the coffee table and away, when Morgana took a step forward.

"Why don't we sit and have a chat?" she asked, her gaze flicking over to Perceval. "You don't mind, do you?"

Perceval looked over at Merlin. Merlin shrugged his shoulders slightly. Perceval mouthed, _I'm sorry_ , and said to Morgana, "I won't be far."

Merlin and Morgana stared at each other for a long time after Perceval left, and Merlin broke eye contact to move away from the couch. He couldn't exactly run from the room now, not without looking like a coward, and after a moment of hesitation, Merlin decided, _What the hell._ He might as well get all of his faux pas out of the way in one go, and he stayed where he was, ready for whatever Morgana was about to tell him.

He waited until she sat down before taking a seat in an oversized chair on the other side of the coffee table; he twitched a few times before getting comfortable, muttering, "It looked more comfortable than it is," under his breath.

"I don't think anyone's ever sat in it," Morgana said, trying for light.

"Do you mean _it_ by this specific chair, or do you mean in the metaphorical _it_?" Merlin asked.

Morgana frowned faintly. "Isn't that more _stepping in it_ rather than _sitting_?"

Merlin shrugged. "You tell me."

Awkwardness stretched until Morgana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

"Merlin --" Morgana took a deep breath. "About last night..."

Merlin held up a hand and cut her off. "If you're going to tell me that you didn't mean what you said, that's fine. You don't have to. You were upset and, well, whatever. I guess I understand. I wasn't exactly calm last night myself either, if you didn't notice. But you know what, you still said it, and it's going to hang between us for a really long time."

Morgana didn't answer. Her lips thinned, her chin raised, and she was defiant, aloof and detached all at once, and for a brief instant, Merlin had the feeling that he was in for more of the same sort of accusations that she'd made the night before.

Except she surprised him by taking a short breath, holding it, and letting it out slowly. She said, "Leon told me that an apology wouldn't suffice."

Merlin didn't speak.

"I still don't know if he was talking about himself or about you." Morgana looked down at her hands.

Merlin frowned slightly, trying to absorb the words. 

"There aren't a lot of people who can win Leon over like that. I know it doesn't seem like it, but sometimes I think he's less trusting than Arthur, and, well, you know Arthur. I heard he nearly threw you out of Excalibur before you even went on your first mission."

Merlin remembered the time they'd first met, although they hadn't known who the other was at the time. He remembered the biggest arsehole on the face of the planet, a man with a big bark and an even bigger bite, and how he'd shredded the two corporals with a few well-chosen words. At the time, Merlin had thought that the blond, extremely fit Captain was the most attractive prat he'd ever seen, that it was such a shame that Merlin had to be the one to knock the chip off his shoulder, and _thank fuck he's not my Captain_.

Then Lance had found him, got him sorted away, and led him to the mess tent where he broke bread with his new team for the first time, all the while sitting right across from the gorgeous bloke that he really wouldn't have minded to drag behind one of the buildings for a quick rub and tug and thinking that he wouldn't ever get that chance.

If there was something that he realized now that he hadn't known at the time, it was that that lashing out had been a self-defence mechanism, a way of bleeding off excess emotion and adrenaline, and that it was a frustrating trait that ran in the family. 

Merlin could handle it when Arthur became overprotective, when he spat out bitter, angry words, when he roared and shouted and lectured until the bloody paint was peeling from the walls from the sheer force of his rage, and Merlin knew how to handle it only because he'd had time to learn. He knew nothing about Morgana or her moods and her temper and he didn't know how to deflect her pointed accusations and her sniper shots. Arthur might be heavy cavalry -- a Knight in gleaming steel plate on a majestic warhorse, bearing down at full speed toward his target with a lance -- and accustomed to open combat, but Morgana was a courtesan, gliding through life with a disarming smile and mesmerizing charm and a sharp blade hidden in her hands.

He understood. He did.

But understanding didn't make the words that stood between them sting any less, not when the last time he'd been accused of being a traitor, he'd lost nearly all of his team, had nearly died, and had been put through a court-martial.

Fucking Walsh. Just when Merlin thought he had moved on from that nasty, nightmarish part of his life, all it took was a well-placed word to bring Merlin back down again.

Merlin looked up to see Morgana watching him, her expression closed off and distant, but what gave her away was the faint, uncertain twitch of her fingers as she fought to keep her emotions under control. It was such an Arthur thing to do that he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at his clasped hands, forcing himself to accept the offered olive branch for what it was -- the Pendragon version of a heartfelt apology, however shite it was.

"Did you hear that I nearly left the team three or four dozen times?"

"Why didn't you?" Morgana asked, direct, blunt, _desperate_. Merlin frowned, ignoring the loud, railing part of himself that crowed, _You were right the first time. She doesn't want you around. She doesn't like you. She says she's sorry? Bollocks_ , and tried to see past the smoke and mirrors at the heart of what Morgana was hiding.

"Because he said he needed me. Because I knew I needed him. I still do." Merlin said. Morgana's eyes darted to the right, then down, then up; her shoulders slumped, then straightened; she shifted her seat slightly and moved her feet on the floor with the minuscule twitch of someone who was about to stand, but changed their minds. She did all these tiny, little, controlled movements, and had all these minuscule, microscopic slips of emotions. Merlin wished that he had even a quarter of Arthur's knack of reading people, because no matter how much he noticed these little things, he didn't know what they meant beyond the fact that Morgana was hiding something, and she was really fucking uncomfortable right now.

Merlin might envy Arthur's ability, but Merlin was the cryptographer; he could crack any code. People were just... harder. He scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail and dropped his hand.

"The business meeting's finished, then?"

"Uther wanted to talk about... other things," Morgana said carefully. She offered Merlin a sympathetic smile that he didn't believe for one second, strongly suspecting that Morgana would have put up a fight to stay there and listen in if she had the choice. 

By "other things", Merlin assumed that Morgana meant the mission. He nodded but he didn't move, and he didn't speak, waiting to see if Morgana would add anything. He didn't have to wait long.

"Don't you want to be in there?" Morgana asked. "To know what they're talking about?"

"Arthur will tell me if I need to know," Merlin said.

Morgana's expression pinched. "But it's your... It's your..."

She made a gesture in the air that reminded Merlin of Arthur's sometimes-incomprehensible, made-up-on-the-spot field signals that Merlin almost laughed. Instead, he decided to interpret it to mean _mission_.

"Arthur will tell me if I need to know," Merlin repeated, but after a small pause where Morgana's confusion only seemed to increase, he added, "I trust him."

"You trust him," Morgana said, and, no, he wasn't mistaken, but there was a tone of derision in her words. It grated under Merlin's skin, and he shook his head.

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. So much for the attempt at a heartfelt apology, if she couldn't even keep her suspicions of Merlin to herself while trying to make the peace.

Abruptly, Merlin stood up. "Perce was giving me a tour of the house."

He'd walked past the couch when Morgana blurted out, "You're going to France."

Merlin stuttered to a stop and took a step back; Morgana's pallor, already porcelain, was all the more fragile now. "Okay?"

It took him a moment to remember why it mattered, why Morgana looked so deathly ill in that instant. Maybe it was because Merlin had been inured by so much combat, so much action. Maybe it was because the reason for Morgana's apprehension barely even raised a blip on Merlin's radar. Whatever the reason, Merlin stood there, feeling a little dumb.

They'd been attacked in a Parisian shop, him and Morgana; the one and only bonding experience that they'd ever had, which had left Merlin feeling very much as if he'd only been a mannequin for her to throw clothes at so that she could test drive her newest credit card. It had been _nice_ to spend time with Morgana, just the two of them, not counting the other members of the team who had been with them, chatting about empty, random things, laughing at the natives wearing the latest runway fashions, at the tourists trying to imitate them, at the tourists who didn't even _try_ , and stood out like sore thumbs in their rumpled jeans and wrinkled shirts and camera bags, gaping at the monuments. They had gotten along, once. Even found some common ground. Merlin had thought that he and Morgana could even be friends until she said that _thing_.

Merlin hadn't thought, and he should have, to check to make sure that Morgana had been all right after that incident, but Leon had assured them that she was fine, if a bit shaken. For all that she was a magnificent war machine in the business boardroom or in the public eye, Morgana wasn't a combat veteran in any definition of the phrase. 

The nearly-successful kidnapping attempt had been in Paris, too, and she hadn't had the time to process and recover from the first attack.

Morgana was wringing her hands together, now, turning her fingers into dishtowels, ragged and twisted and knotted. 

"It'll be all right, Morgana. We'll be fine," Merlin said, feeling awkward. "I mean, it's not like we're going shopping for tuxedoes."

He winced when he realized what he'd said.

"We know what's going to happen. We'll be ready," Merlin added, but the look that Morgana was levelling at him was a stern, stiff stare full of fear and concern and worry. There was something off about it, too, and Merlin couldn't quite put his finger on it to suss out what, exactly, was looming in Morgana's mind.

"You can't go to France," Morgana said. "You can't. You have to talk Arthur out of it. You have to tell him it's a bad idea. He won't listen to me because he'll say I don't know what's going on and he'll say that he has it under control just like you said, but you don't know. You don't. It's not under control. It's going to go wrong."

Merlin took a step closer to the sofa, his brow furrowing so deeply, it gave him a headache. "Morgana. Morgana, it's all right, it's just…"

He hesitated and sat down next to her, tilting his head until he caught her gaze.

"Did you talk to anyone? About the last time we were in Paris? Because that was pretty traumatic, even for me." On the scale of _Merlin's Trauma_ , it actually ranked pretty low, right below being hugged by a Kevorkian terrorist in a bomb vest with less than a minute to spare, where there was just too much trashing and shouting for Owain to _get him the fuck off already_. It ranked below walking in on Will in the loo, his pants down and a finger up his arse, shouting after Merlin, _I'm not gay, I just want to know what it's like, get that fucking look off your face_. It ranked just a bit higher than getting cornered by Bryn and Tristan and his lot back when they were all in school ages ago, getting stripped of his trousers and having to walk through school to get to _someone_ who could get them down from the roof.

But Merlin didn't say any of that, because he didn't want to minimize what Morgana had been through. She wasn't used to it; she'd never gone through it before. For her, it was the most traumatizing thing that she had endured. She didn't have anything to compare it to. She didn't have a frame of reference. She didn't even know how to move past it.

 _PTSD_ flashed in Merlin's mind, but he didn't say that, either, because, for him, giving something a clinical name took away from the fact that it was really fucking real, it was really fucking scary, and it wasn't going to go away any time soon.

Morgana turned crisp green eyes on him, full of flash and _furious_ , and she snapped, "This isn't about Paris. This isn't me freaking out. My dad's a Colonel, for fuck's sake, and I'm having to live with both my brother and my fiancé being out of touch with me for _months_ and never knowing if they're all right. Don't you dare patronize me. This isn't PTSD, it's --"

She cut herself off, then, and looked sharply away.

If Merlin were smart, he would shut up and wait for Morgana to say something when she was ready, or he would leave her alone after the silence lasted too long. But the silence lasted too long for him, and Merlin was concerned about Morgana's frame of mind.

"What is it, then?" he asked gently.

He could hear footsteps down the hall -- maybe Perceval stretching out his legs. He heard distant voices that drifted up in the echo of the mansion, and couldn't guess to whom they belonged, never mind where they'd originated from. The house creaked as the temperature outside changed; there was a faint crinkle and clatter of objects, a distant electronic hum.

But in this sitting room, there was silence.

It was the shush of fabric brushing together that drew Merlin's attention to Morgana; she shifted in her seat until she was facing him, her hands flat on her thighs, her fingers red and scratched from where she'd worn at them. She was pale -- paler than she was earlier, her skin almost translucent in the yellowish light from incandescent light bulbs and shadowed lamps, but she was _together_ , all her wits about her, a sharp edge to her demeanour and determination in her body language.

"Did…" The word faltered on her lips, and she tried again. "Did Arthur or Leon or anyone tell you about my dreams?"

Merlin shifted slightly, turning his body to face her. "They've mentioned that you have nightmares, that you don't sleep well. That you have insomnia sometimes, and that the drugs that you've been given to try don't work, at least not very well."

"I haven't been taking them for a while. Not since…" Morgana hesitated, then bullied on, "Not since Paris. If I slept, I'd just get trapped in a bad dream and I'd wake up worse than before."

Merlin stayed silent, sensing that there was more.

"I don't always dream about people or places that I know. It's… It's strange. Sometimes I'll get a flash of an object. The colour of a car. A woman's earrings. Kids playing ball in the park. Other times…" Morgana's hands twitched, her fingers scratching into her skirt, wrinkling the material. "Other times, I see someone bleeding. I see Parliament in shambles, a ruin. I see a city on fire. But usually… My dreams come true. They always come true."

Her voice wavered. She took a deep breath.

"The night before Arthur went missing, I…" Morgana paused. "I dreamed that someone was holding a gun to his head."

Merlin froze, holding his breath.

"He was wearing the same suit he wore when he got back. The same tie. I told Leon about it, but he only did what he always does and patted my leg and rubbed my back until I fell asleep. Except when I closed my eyes, I saw Arthur with that gun on his temple again. I saw the man's face. I saw him squeeze the trigger. And then I dreamed something else. I dreamed that…"

Morgana's pause was so abrupt that it was as if time had frozen around them, and Merlin glanced up to make sure that his magic hadn't done something it shouldn't have.

Morgana caught his gaze and held it. "I dreamed about the man again. I saw you standing with him. He was laughing. You were… You were…"

"I was what?" Merlin prompted, his voice as soft as he could make it.

"Just there," Morgana said, her expression distant. "Standing there like you were friends. Standing there as if nothing mattered. A little angry, I think. But you didn't do anything. You just…"

Her voice cracked.

 _Oh, my Gods. You're a Seer,_ Merlin wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his hands before catching her eyes. "The man you saw. Can you describe him?"

Morgana laughed dryly. "No. I can't. I can't even tell you how I know it was the same man who had that gun at Arthur's head. All I remember about him was that he was… He had tattoos. Here."

She gestured.

Merlin glanced toward the doorway to the sitting room and strained his hearing, but he couldn't hear anyone nearby. "Bryn," he said. "Arthur identified him. His name is Bryn. I know him. From a long time ago. We went to school together. He was the yard bully and I was one of his victims. But we're not friends, Morgana. Not even close. I'd sooner take his gun from his hands and shoot him myself if I had the opportunity."

Merlin was careful to keep the emotion out of his voice, but it slipped through anyway. Morgana focused on the wrong thing, and said instead, her brows pinched, "You believe me. You don't think I'm…"

"Did Leon ever tell you about my religion? Did he tell you that I'm Pagan?" Merlin saw the little headshake, the lightening of the frown, and continued, "I'm the first person who'll believe any weird shit, but my Uncle Gaius, he knows more about it than I do."

The tension in Morgana's shoulders eased, and her fingers smoothed out the wrinkles of her skirt. 

"He could help you," Merlin said.

Morgana's laugh was sharp and dry and bitter. "Why? Is he a closet chemist? Is he going to brew up some more drugs for me? Will he make them stop?"

"There's no controlling dreams, Morgana. Especially not clairvoyant dreams. They're the world's way of warning us to prepare for what's coming. If Uncle Gaius gives you anything, it'll be to help you sleep, but what he's more likely to do is get you in touch with someone who can help you guide your dreams."

Morgana was silent for a moment, her expression wavering between _Merlin, you're a crackpot_ and _You mean, this is normal?_ , and she asked, carefully, suspiciously, "Guide them, how?"

"I don't know," Merlin said honestly. "My dreams are the wet kind, not the prophetic kind, and to be honest, I really don't have any complaints --"

Morgana swatted him, an abrupt, surprised laugh tearing from her throat.

"Seriously, it'll help you how to See things when you're awake instead of only when you're asleep, for instance. Make it so that you control it, not the other way around. I really have no idea how it works."

"But it works?"

"It works," Merlin said firmly. He could attest to Gaius' training methods; he was living proof. Gaius must know someone who could help Morgana. "Do you want me to call my uncle? Have him get in touch with you?"

There was a long silence, a distant, calculating look, but finally, Morgana nodded. "If you don't mind."

In that instant, Merlin saw a weight lift from her shoulders -- it was still there, but a sizeable portion was gone, now, and he understood why Morgana had said the things she did. Visions, particularly uncontrolled ones, they were fickle things, showing the viewer images that didn't tie together. It was like reading a book backward and forward and only reading one sentence every fifty pages.

For Morgana to get two visions of Arthur with a gun to his head, followed closely with an image of Merlin standing next to Bryn -- Merlin shuddered inwardly, in sudden need of a psychic bath -- and to find out that Arthur wasn't only missing, but in probable danger? Merlin couldn't blame her for interpreting the visions the way she had.

It took some of the sting away from being called a traitor.

Some.

Merlin reached out and touched Morgana's wrist. "And Paris? What did you See about Paris?"

That terrified, haunted look crossed her features again. Her mouth dropped open and her lower lip quavered. Tears filled her eyes clouding the sparkling emerald.

She spoke, but there was no voice. She repeated herself again and again, reaching out to take Merlin's hand and squeeze it until he couldn't feel his fingers anymore.

_Everyone dies._

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

Everything was falling into place the way Arthur needed them to, but nothing was going according to plan.

Three days after the Colonel agreed to send them to France to oversee the disruptor prototype testing, evaluate the results, and to get final say in whether the project continued or died a fast and humane death, the team had arranged for their living quarters abroad, packed their equipment, logged the flight, finalized transportation -- all only to have to do it again when Gwen came to his office one day and said, 

"There are three off-site science heads who have the authorization protocols and the clearance for this prototype, Arthur, and if you want to keep your cover story believable, you need one of them with you to properly evaluate the data, or the department will cry foul."

"I know," Arthur said, barely looking up from his desk, letting his gaze drift toward Merlin, who had cobbled together two of the guest chairs to fashion himself a couch, and was merrily typing away at his laptop doing only God knew what. Ever since he'd foiled the NWO with the encrypted database, Arthur and his team were keeping their loved ones as close as they possibly could. If that meant getting raised eyebrows because he was bringing Merlin to work and tucking him in the corner of his office, so be it.

The rumours that Arthur might be fucking him over his desk were not completely unfounded.

"And you're taking Dr. Wileman."

"He's qualified," Arthur said, clicking through the document on the screen and revising a few notes in his papers. If he was going to be evaluating the prototype, he wanted his shite together. Merlin had promised to help with some of the technical jargon, but after taking a look at some of it, Merlin had admitted that it was a bit over his head.

"He's also an old fuddy-duddy with three-inch-thick lenses in his glasses, a penchant for wearing blue socks with brown sandals, pants that are too short and hiked up too high -- oh, Arthur, there's a reason why we stuck Dr. Wileman in the bloody basement lab. He's not fit for human company. Why don't you just take me?"

Arthur pointedly kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact, when he said, "Because Lance would kick my arse."

"And I won't?" Arthur wisely chose not to answer. Gwen continued, "You know I'm just as qualified as Dr. Wileman, if not more. And you know I _will_ tell you the truth. You can't be sure about him, can you? Actually, I can guarantee that you can't, and you know it. The last company function that you went to? You met him. And you swore that you'd never get cornered into a conversation with him ever again. That's because he bored you to death --"

Arthur almost raised his eyes at that, but remembered at the last moment that Gwen's pleading, resolute expression could make even the Colonel cry for mercy, and turned back to the computer. "Actually, I was bored to tears because I couldn't understand a bloody thing the man said."

Merlin snickered.

"Oh, well then, I stand corrected," Gwen said. "Merlin --"

"Leave me out of it," Merlin said.

"Coward," Arthur said.

"Look who's talking," Merlin said. "Won't even look Gwen in the eye."

Arthur's rejoinder was interrupted when Gwen took hold of his papers in both hands and wrenched them away, scattering them all over the floor. She leaned over the desk, and said sweetly, "Don't make me do that to your computer."

"No, not the computer, it didn't do anything to you," Merlin dead-panned.

"It's an accessory to the crime," Gwen said. Arthur took a deep breath and leaned back to look at Gwen. Gwen arched an eyebrow. "Now, I've already made arrangements in my absence. My assistants can handle the workload while I'm away and I don't have anything urgent to deal with. And of course I'll be staying with Lance. All you need to do is email Dr. Wileman and let him know that he doesn't have to leave his precious lab."

When Arthur hesitated a moment too long -- mainly to mentally prepare his argument and list every reason why Gwen would not be joining them in France -- Gwen raised the other brow and gave the keyboard a firm nudge.

"I'll wait."

Arthur exhaled. Unfortunately, there were many more reasons why he needed Gwen with him. She was right. Wileman was a brilliant scientist, but his social skills barely registered on any scale on the planet no matter how sensitive it was, and not even his own assistants could follow his train of thought. If Arthur was to get a honest evaluation of the disruptor's capabilities, he needed someone he could understand. Most importantly, he needed someone he could trust implicitly, and of the scientists who fit the criteria for the prototype evaluation, Gwen was heads and shoulders above everyone else.

"I've taken the liberty of drafting an email for you, all you have to do is hit send," Merlin said.

Arthur glanced at his screen. Sure enough, there was the email with all the headers filled in, the salutation, the brief but curt _it has been decided that your input on the prototype will be restricted to the evaluation of collected data, and you are no longer required to travel to the testing site_ message, and his signature block.

Arthur side-eyed Merlin, and leaned forward to change his name from "The Biggest Pendragon Prat" to "Arthur Pendragon."

He hit send before Merlin could change anything else.

"Familiarize yourself with the material," Arthur told Gwen.

She beamed at him and said, "Already ahead of you," before sweeping out of the office.

Arthur waited until the door clicked shut behind her before remarking, "She's been spending too much time with Morgana."

"Speaking of," Merlin said, glancing up at Arthur, "You know that Morgana has booked herself several appointments with the French department?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Arthur said, rubbing his brow. He dropped his hand to the desk with a loud, frustrated thump. "She's not coming."

"That worked really well for you with Gwen, by the way," Merlin said.

Arthur stared at Merlin as Merlin gave him a cheeky smile, feigning innocence. "Unfortunately, Gwen is right, we do need her. What we don't need is a PR specialist. And even then, we don't need the _vice president_ of public relations to trail after us like a lost puppy. What would we even need her for, anyway?"

"If the prototype testing goes spectacularly wrong --" Merlin cast a glance at the office door, making sure it was shut, and there was a flash of gold in his eyes. "Like, for example, it actually works and makes the whole country crash into pre-Industrialized tech levels, or, worse, the NWO makes an appearance to steal the prototype and there's aftermath to deal with? We're going to need PR to deal with the blowback. Never mind with the media -- if we're ever going to honeymoon in Paris, we'll need to make sure we're not _barred_ from the country…"

"You want to go to Paris for our honeymoon?" Arthur asked, raising a brow.

"God, no. Lovely city and all, but after last time? Not high on my list. Australia, maybe?" Arthur made a mental note as Merlin continued, "And you know better than I do that leaving her behind isn't an option. We're going to need the whole team, especially if the NWO's going to make an appearance."

"There's no _if_ ," Arthur said, shaking his head. Merlin's encryption of the database meant that the NWO had exactly one more route to get what they wanted -- and that was the direct one. They would go for Merlin himself, hold someone hostage, or attack the laboratory. Any of those were options that Arthur would make himself. "They will, and you know it. I don't know what to do about Morgana -- what, do I just let her take the lead? Have her follow us around until we're ready to go in?"

"Just let her come. You know Leon will be more focused if she's with us."

"Or less," Arthur said sourly, though he had to agree. When Merlin was near or in line of sight, Arthur was several shades less antsy than he would be otherwise, even when they were all taking fire, because he knew that Merlin would be taken care of by one of the others if Arthur went down. Still, he felt the need to complain. These were his plans, damn it, and between Gwen and Morgana, they were forcing him to rethink, restructure, recalculate. "I'm going to have to assign someone to watch them both. That's going to take away from the rest of the defence --"

"Which you always over-plan, anyway, and reassigning a couple of people? Not going to hurt," Merlin pointed out.

Arthur stared at Merlin for a long moment. He knew that Merlin and Morgana had spoken after dinner at the Colonel's a few nights ago. Merlin had even told him what they'd spoken about -- mainly Morgana's nightmares and how Merlin thought that his sister was some sort of clairvoyant psychic -- but Arthur wasn't sure what surprised him more: how Merlin seemed to have forgiven Morgana for what she'd said, or the fact that his sister could probably foretell the winning tickets to the lottery.

He hadn't worked up the courage to ask Morgana for the next ten winners of the footie matches, though he was _so_ tempted.

The fact that she insisted on coming after announcing that they would all die in France -- it made no sense to Arthur, not even when Merlin reasoned that she might think herself able to alter events if she were there to stop them. It was almost as if the sleeping draughts that Gaius had sent over and the advice Morgana had gotten from Gaius' off-again, on-again girlfriend, Alice, on how to control her dreams, had made Morgana think she was in control, and, worse, infallible. It had only been a few days; how could she be at that point already?

Still, an intelligence source was an intelligence source, however unreliable, fragmented, and misinterpreted, and Arthur was reacting to Morgana's latest vision as a done deal.

It never hurt to be over-prepared.

"How am I even going to explain yet another addition to the --"

"I doubt that you'll have to do anything, according to this," Merlin said, gesturing to his laptop. He lifted it and squinted at the screen; Arthur idly wondered if Merlin needed glasses, and pictured him in black wire-frames; the mental image was oddly appealing. "She's made all the arrangements. Looks like her name is on the roster for the prototype testing. Gwen's too."

"Oh, for fuck's sake --" Arthur threw up his hand. "Should I just let Morgana run the show, then?"

"Might be an idea," Merlin said, looking up. His brow was still furrowed in thought, and he put the laptop down on the floor to walk over to Arthur, his arms crossed. Arthur could tell from the way Merlin was chewing the inside of his cheek that he was thinking. "She had the vision before the decision to go to France was made. Means us going to France was inevitable -- you were probably already thinking about it, yeah?"

He'd been thinking about going _somewhere_ , wherever they needed to go. France hadn't been on the list at all. Arthur raised a hand, neither confirming nor denying. He leaned back in his chair, watching Merlin pace in front of his desk, stopping now and then to pick up the papers that Gwen had flung off earlier. 

"If she has the same vision again, we know your plan's bollocksed, no matter what we do. Why not put her in charge and see what happens?"

"I'm not following," Arthur said.

Merlin took a step to the desk, took one of the sheets that he'd picked up, and flipped it over. He snatched one of Arthur's expensive monogrammed pens and drew a line across the page. "You know how I've been reading up on visions? And talking to Gaius about it? Well, from our perspective, you and me, time goes one way. This way."

He drew an arrow across the page. 

"Present to Future, except we're always in the Present. But Seers? Time moves in a billion different ways, and the only Future they see is the Future that's the _most likely_ to happen out of all the possibilities." 

Merlin drew several lines with arrows in various directions, some of the lines pale, others dotted, the others in a stuttering Morse code. One line was thick and obvious, standing out from the rest.

"You didn't have a plan in place until you had a firm reason to be in France, yeah? That's what Morgana saw, us just showing up and getting killed because we didn't know what we were getting into. But now that we do, and now that we have a plan -- does that mean that this line is cancelled," Merlin crossed out the bolded arrow and started darkening another, "And this Future becomes the new potential?"

Arthur stared at the sheet of paper for a long time before taking a deep breath and nodding. He understood. Any of those lines could reflect any one of the plans that he had put together, but any of those plans could lead to a less-ideal outcome. If Morgana was seeing their deaths while Arthur's plan was in place, then there was a flaw in his plan and they needed a Plan B -- and not one of Arthur's Plan Bs, either.

Leon, Lance, Perceval -- he would have them put together their own action plans and to seal them up. And, God help him, if Morgana's visions continued, he would ask her to take the lead to get them to the lab, just to confuse matters.

The doorknob rattled; someone pounded on the door. Arthur heard muffled shouts, and glanced at Merlin, who gave him a sheepish smile and winked, a sliver of gold ringing his eyes.

The door slammed open, and Gwaine tripped into the room, a gun in his hand. His half-alarmed expression became a heavy scowl. "At least pencil it in if you're going to have sex or something, just so I know not to panic, yeah? And to set up the camera. But mostly, the panic."

Arthur tried very hard not to smirk. Merlin, however, coloured, and went over to "his" corner of the room, claiming his laptop from the floor. "What do you want?"

"Got a weird text message," Gwaine said, pulling his phone out of his gun holster, where he must have put it for safekeeping when he drew his gun. 

_Tell A to chk his phone._

Arthur dug his cell from under the mound of papers and flicked through the pop-up text messages. There were four from undisclosed numbers.

All of them from Olaf, if the messages were anything to go by.

_Lunch. Today. Noon._

_Don't try to get out of it. Know u aren't busy now_

_Playing hard to get doesn't suit u_

_U can bring M_

Arthur sighed and scratched the back of his head. He had been avoiding Olaf's phone calls and text messages since the network crash and the data theft, and as much as he wanted information, he hadn't wanted to deal with Olaf's smug know-it-all attitude either. Arthur looked over at Merlin, who squirmed in his chair until he was comfortable again.

"Do you feel like going out for lunch?"

 

* * *

 

The maître d' at the Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester barely raised an eyebrow when Arthur and Merlin walked in with their usual bodyguards in tow. When Arthur called to reserve four tables -- three for Perceval and Gwaine, Kay and Bohrs, Owain and Bedivere and the usual private booth tucked in the far corner, away from prying eyes and ears -- the voice on the other end said, "Of course, Mr. Pendragon, we have your usual table reserved."

Arthur hadn't missed the audible eye-roll over the phone, and guessed that, perhaps, he was patronizing this restaurant a bit too much of late, but he only had Olaf to blame.

Merlin slid into the booth and immediately cracked open his netbook while Arthur paused for a moment to make eye contact with his men. Arthur sat down next to Merlin, their thighs brushing, and ordered Olaf's ridiculously expensive white wine and two glasses of house red for himself and Merlin.

And they waited. Olaf was never on time. He might rant and rave about arriving at precisely noon, but Arthur was certain that at _precisely noon_ , Olaf was performing a full sweep of the hotel before he even came down for lunch on Arthur's coin. 

With a sigh, Arthur pulled out his phone, checked his work-related emails, and glanced over Merlin's shoulder to see what he was working on.

Merlin grunted at him and tilted the netbook out of his purview.

"Are you downloading porn?" Arthur asked.

"Better," Merlin said, but he didn't look up.

"What's better than porn?"

Merlin's fingers stopped tapping at the keyboard, and he looked up at Arthur, blinking a few times to clear his vision. After a second, he frowned and pinched Arthur hard enough to draw a yelp. 

"What was that for?"

"For a second I thought you'd turned into Gwaine," Merlin said, and went back to whatever it was that he was working on.

Arthur snorted, and went back to playing the bubble-pop game on his phone.

When Olaf sat down across from Arthur, he barely glanced in Merlin's direction. He picked up the glass of Zinfandel, swirled the contents in the glass, took a quick sniff, and drank it down as if he was at a frat party and it was no more than cheap beer.

The waiter came by to refill their glasses and take their orders. The dark cloud following Olaf was noticeable enough that _now_ was not the time to start charming the patrons for a bigger tip.

Olaf leaned back in his seat and took a long look around the restaurant floor. His hair was slicked back, his clothes as posh as usual -- a dark green suit jacket against dark grey trousers, fine off-white silk shirt and an emerald-and-azure Diamondback pattern on an expensive tie -- but there was an edge to him, as if he fully expected to need to bolt and run at any moment. Arthur marked the times when Olaf spotted his team by the way the crinkles at the corners of his mouth seemed to multiply.

"Came in full force today, I see," Olaf said.

"It's a beautiful day," Arthur said, and never mind that it was pouring rain when they arrived earlier. "I thought it was nice to get out of the office."

"You don't answer my messages anymore," Olaf said, finally fixing Arthur with a steel gaze. This, Arthur knew, meant that there would be very little dancing this time around, and that they would be going straight to the meat of it.

That was when Merlin decided to say, "Should I be jealous?"

Olaf and Arthur both turned to look at Merlin. Merlin pointedly put a forefinger on the edge of his little black netbook and shut it; the way the light fell on the finish was menacing.

Merlin exaggerated a sweep of his hand and grabbed his wine glass; he raised and swung it in the air in accompaniment to his broad gestures. Arthur recognized Merlin's undercover act at once, mixed in with just enough verisimilitude to make it all the more believable even to someone who knew that they were both undercover in the first place. He wasn't so sure that Olaf picked up on what Merlin was doing. In fact, he wasn't so sure that he knew himself.

"Because, you know, my boyfriend gets mysterious messages at odd hours of the day asking to meet up in undisclosed locations, it makes someone wonder, you know. So, who are you, really? Why are you getting between us? Don't you know how pissed off I get when I get cockblocked, or what I could do to your electronic presence if you keep this up?"

Arthur stared at Merlin for a moment more. Merlin knew who Olaf was, who he worked for -- however much that he protested that he was "retired" -- and how they knew each other. Arthur needed no time whatsoever to jump from wondering why Merlin was even asking to realizing that he had a point: Arthur was so accustomed to Olaf's intervention at critical junctions that he never once asked what Olaf got out of it.

He never once thought about why Olaf had been so desperate to meet with Arthur the day that Lightforce came to perform an audit on the Pendragon network, or why he was even interested in the mission at all. The Directory didn't fall under MI's purview. Perhaps there was a bit of cross-agency espionage going on. Or worse.

Arthur looked at Olaf, saw his quirked brow and the faint flash of panic in his eyes, and he realized that Merlin really was brilliant, and that Arthur was something of a bit thick himself. He should have known there was something up, that the other government branches would get their hackles in a rise. 

"What, not talking, then?" Merlin glanced at Arthur, tilting his head in question, and Arthur only nodded his head, graciously giving him the floor. Or table, as it were.

Merlin licked his lips, put his wine glass down, crossed his arms on the flattened cloth napkin in front of him, and hunched his shoulders a bit while giving Olaf an intense look.

"Bet you know who I am."

Olaf's eyebrow rose.

"Bet you know what I can do."

Olaf's nod was barely perceptible.

"Bet you're thinking right now that your company's network isn't as secure as Pendragon's was."

Arthur glanced between the two men. A sick feeling settled in his stomach as Olaf's expression darkened. He suddenly knew what Merlin was getting at.

"Well, you'd be right," Merlin said. He pushed up his sleeves, reached for a bread bun, and tore it open. "You want to tell Arthur what I just found on your network and why you have it there?"

Olaf cleared his throat several times, but the waiter saved them by bringing the salads by. Merlin had ordered the minestrone; he slurped at it noisily. Arthur glanced in his direction, certain that he was doing it on purpose to throw Olaf off even more.

"There's a few files on our network," Olaf finally said, carefully cutting the large tomato on his plate and smearing goat cheese on the edge before salting the entire thing. "You'd have to be more specific."

Right away, Arthur saw that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin seized the opening and said sweetly, "Oh, I can be. Are you sure you want me to?"

Olaf turned to Arthur and gestured with his knife in Merlin's direction. "Where did you find this one?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Arthur said. As much as he would love to see Olaf tap dance all night to the tune of Merlin's jabs, he didn't have the time. None of them did. Arthur raised a meaningful eyebrow at Olaf, and added, "So you have a copy of the prototype's schematics, you know what it does, and you were dead set on making certain that no one else got their hands on it. Too bad it was walked out of the building."

Olaf gave him a mulish look.

"Just one thing I'm not clear on," Arthur said, pausing to eat his salad. "And that's whose hands are you trying to keep it out of?"

Olaf heaved a breath and ate his appetizer with the focus of a man who had been so thoroughly derailed, he needed to find a new overland route to get to his destination. Arthur let the silence stretch, but not before he gave Merlin's knee a nudge. 

Arthur didn't know what possessed Merlin to crack the British's secret service network -- a network that, as far as he knew, wasn't even accessible from the internet, and he _definitely_ didn't want to know how Merlin managed to do it in the first place -- but now that he had, some of the missing pieces in the puzzle of this entire mission were finally falling into place. Of course Olaf would use Arthur to get an insider's look on what was going on; he had direct access regardless of what they were doing. The connections between groups -- MI-5, the Directory, the NWO, even the CIA, numerous arms groups, terrorists, and definitely including Aredian's men -- had suddenly garnered another complicated layer of knotted ribbons, and Arthur had the feeling that Excalibur were all being played for fools.

It was equally possible that Olaf was intent on keeping the prototype away from Bayard -- but what possible use would the Directory have for a portable long-range variable-frequency directed-trigger electromagnetic pulse device that worked only on electronics -- as he was to keep it away from the NWO. The disruptor in the NWO's hands was a tool of worldwide destruction that fit neatly into their dogma, and surely Olaf's people wanted to make certain that the worst case scenario never had the opportunity to become a scenario.

Maybe Olaf hadn't been determined to warn Arthur about the database theft. Maybe Olaf had been attempting to stop Arthur from ensuring that the plans would be delivered in the hands of the enemy.

The waiter came and went with their empty plates, and Arthur didn't try to prompt Olaf again. The name of the game was outwaiting the man, and if needs must, Arthur would wait as long as he could before dragging the information out of him.

"A few international incidents have occurred over the last several weeks. High-level thefts, kidnappings, disappearances, deaths. The respective secret services of the affected countries' governments had already established surveillance on the objects that were stolen and assigned bodyguard detail for the people who were kidnapped or killed. Until recently, we were unable to make the connection."

The NWO, Arthur knew. He didn't need it spelled out. It was obvious. Instead, he asked, "How was the connection made?"

Olaf shot Merlin an irritated look. He kept his silence until the waiter arrived with their meals -- chicken Florentine for Olaf, rib-eye steak with a rainbow's assortment of vegetables for Arthur, a rich dish of handmade butternut ravioli with a tomato sauce and pizza-sliced crispy crab cakes for Merlin.

Arthur speared one of those crab cake pieces for himself.

"There's speculation within the agency that the Directory is not above reproach," Olaf said simply, raising a _don't worry, it's all under control_ eyebrow that only served to stir up the broth.

"Under that same argument, _no one_ is above reproach," Arthur retorted with a snort, ignoring the cold feeling in his chest. "Evidence, Olaf. Convince me."

"I don't need to," Olaf said, looking pointedly in Merlin's direction. "If my company's servers are just as secure as Pendragon's, imagine how much less so theirs are."

Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. Arthur traded a cut of his steak for more of the crab cakes on Merlin's plate, ignoring Olaf's amused smirk when he did. "Don't put this on him. You're the one who brought it up. You tell me."

Olaf leaned forward slightly. "When's the last time you spoke to Major Kilgarrah? Either of you?"

Arthur traded another look with Merlin; Merlin's eyes narrowed. Kilgarrah had continued his habit of never answering Arthur's phone calls, but picking up on practically the first ring when it was Merlin, regardless of the phone he used. That habit continued until shortly after Merlin checked in following the database trade and ended that morning when Merlin stared at his phone and said, "That's odd. He said _Later_ and hung up on me before I could say word one."

Given the hour, it had probably been bad timing -- the Dragon was heading for a meeting, or was in a meeting already, or, worse, because Arthur did not need this mental image, had been in the shower, puffing away at a cigarette, smoke mixing with steam.

Either way, from the tone of Olaf's voice, it was almost as if he fully expected that neither one of them had been in contact with Kilgarrah for some time.

"We realized less than a few weeks ago that Kilgarrah has been off the radar for what appears to be two, possibly three months, _at minimum_ , that Bayard is no longer operating with mandated oversight on this mission, and that the frequency of NWO-Directory agent assassination hits has increased since then. That's when we started making the connection with the thefts of classified material and the disappearance of VIPs --"

The waiter drifted by. "Is everything all right with your meals?'

"Yes, yes, thank you," Olaf said impatiently, looking over his shoulder to make certain that the waiter had gone. "We went through hours of footage -- I won't bore you with details of how fucking frustrating it was trying to get the surveillance footage in the first place -- and did facial recognition on everyone who was even in the vicinity at the time of the incidents. The usual databases yielded nothing except a few low level punks, but the real hits -- the real hits came when we pulled the Directory's files. We got confirmed visuals on some of their biggest runners left, right, front and centre, but the real kicker was…"

Of course Olaf would leave them on a cliffhanger as he cut into a piece of chicken and chewed it slowly, washing it down with his wine. 

"… when we realized that the Directory had already made the connection to the NWO."

Olaf paused, looking at the two of them. Arthur barely glanced up, but when he did, it wasn't with any of the turmoil or confusion that raged below the surface. "And your nose is all bent out of joint that he didn't tell you. You realize that our job doesn't include holding your hands and making sure you talk to each other?"

Olaf's huff was sharp and impatient. "Have it your way, then, Pendragon. You want me to spell it out for you? I'll spell it out."

"Spell it, don't spit it," Merlin said, frowning at Olaf. He picked a piece of what might have been food from his water glass and flicked it away. "That was gross, mate."

Arthur almost laughed at Olaf's pained expression. He would have, too, except he had a feeling that he already knew what Olaf was going to say, and it wasn't sitting well.

"We know you're in constant communication with Bayard. We know that Bayard orchestrated the situation that your company is in. So why isn't Bayard answering our calls? His agents don't know where he is, his assistant tries to baffle us with rubbish excuses about this meeting or that meeting, and the single time we were able to track his whereabouts, one of our other agents had been tracking Morgause Gorlois heading to the same location. Neither one of them left. We investigated, and they'd both gotten away from us, and we don't know how the fuck."

Arthur waited.

"He's not on our side. I don't know whose side he's on, but he's definitely not on yours. And this game he's running? Either it's the world's biggest con, or the world's biggest coup, I don't know which, but it doesn't matter, because he's up to something, and we're back to square one no matter what we do."

"Square one being?"

"Weren't you listening?" Olaf asked, fixing Merlin with an annoyed glare. Merlin's expression was wide-eyed and full of fake innocence. Olaf didn't know Merlin well, if he couldn't tell that Merlin was being mocking.

"Just making sure that I'd heard right. Sounded to me as if you're fucking clueless and randomly pointing fingers," Merlin said, shrugging a shoulder half-heartedly. 

"Are you kidding me with him?" Olaf asked, glaring at Arthur.

"Look, you can say whatever you like about whoever, say they root for Manchester United or that they root for Real Madrid, I could give a shit. Arthur said it first, I'm saying it again. You're telling us, but you're not showing us. And that bollocks about me looking for myself? We're not idiots. We know evidence can be planted, yeah?" Merlin glanced at Arthur before fixing Olaf with a stern look. "The real question is, mate, whose side are _you_ on? Right here it's Trust No One X-Files zone, and you're not making yourself look any prettier than the rest of them."

Olaf stared at Merlin with a stone-faced expression that Arthur knew well -- the carefully controlled rage that always boiled under the surface whenever he spotted an inappropriate boy hitting on his precious daughter, Vivian. Arthur put down his knife and fork in case he was going to have to get between Olaf's hands and Merlin's throat.

The silence stretched. And stretched.

Olaf moved slowly and deliberately, bringing his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip. He put the glass down again, eyed Merlin with something of renewed interest, and leaned forward slightly. "I'm pleasantly surprised. You're rather good at this. Have you thought of joining --"

"Olaf," Arthur said sternly.

"Flattered and all, and no. Answer my question," Merlin said. "Whose side are you on?"

"The Queen's," Olaf said after a moment.

Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. Merlin smirked. Arthur looked at Olaf for a long, steady moment before Olaf realized what he'd said, and gestured in the air.

"The actual Queen," Olaf said. After a moment, he added, "If you need a gesture of good faith...?"

Merlin spread his hands. Arthur tried not to smile. Olaf was right -- Merlin was good at this, but that was only because he could be an annoying pain in the arse when he wanted to be.

Olaf finished his chicken, ignored the vegetables, and wiped his mouth. "Don't go to France."

That was the second time -- from two different people -- that Arthur had heard the same warning. "Why?"

"How many people do you think are interested in this prototype, Arthur?" Olaf asked. "Do you think it's just the regular old alphabet soups? Or the Directory? If you want my advice -- and I know you're not going to take it, but I'll give it anyway -- cancel the demonstration. Destroy the prototype. Cut the funding for the project. Burn all of the research."

Arthur watched Olaf for a long moment, his head tilted back, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he said, "Of course you'd say that, considering that you have copies of the schematics. You could rebuild the prototype under the government's coin."

"If you're that worried, have your man there burn our copies for you," Olaf said. He leaned forward again and looked Arthur in the eye. "You're going anyway."

Arthur didn't answer.

Olaf heaved a sigh. He took the fine fabric napkin from his lap, crumpled it up, and dumped it on top of his plate. He stood up, took a single step closer to Arthur -- out of the corner of Arthur's eye, he saw Kay, who was nearest, tense -- and said, "If you won't accept my first warning, at least heed this one. Vivian would have my head if she heard I'd let something happen to one of her friends. It's not going to be pretty in France."

He straightened, his smile friendly. He brushed down his suit jacket and looked first at Merlin, then at Arthur.

"Congratulations are in order, aren't they? Do pass on my best to Morgana and her beau."

Arthur nodded. "I will."

"And good luck," Olaf said. "I mean it."

Arthur watched Olaf until he was gone and turned to look at Merlin.

Merlin was just as grim as Arthur felt.

The question wasn't what they were going to do. It was how they were going to find out who was really on their side: Olaf, by trusting that his warning was going to hold; Bayard, who was rapidly rising up to number one on Arthur's shite list; or Kilgarrah, who never answered when Arthur called.

And the only way he could think to find out was to risk everything.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

"I'd like to toast the happy couple --"

The happy couple in question simultaneously cringed, exchanged glances, and leaned in to whisper to each other. Merlin fancied that Morgana was asking Leon to shoot Gwaine and that Leon said, _we kind of need him for the next little while, but right afterward, I promise you, it'll be number one on my list of priorities_ , because Morgana sat back, mollified, and put on a brave face to endure whatever it was that Gwane was about to say next.

Perceval was tugging at Gwaine's arm without much enthusiasm, putting in a token effort because he knew that nothing short of throwing Gwaine over his shoulder and carrying him out of the small French restaurant would stop whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

"What happy couple?" Geraint quipped, and, because he was sitting next to Morgana and apparently had something of a death wish that the rest of the team hadn't known about until now, he didn't duck in time. Morgana's blow nearly sent him into his soup.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," Gwaine said, yanking his arm away from Perceval without so much as a sidelong scowl, "Toasting the happy couple. Congratulations on your engagement, however long it's been in coming, and let's hope that the length of time it took Leon to get off his bloody arse and propose is directly proportional to how long it takes before the two of you see sense and get a divorce --"

"Sit down, Gwaine!"

Merlin didn't know what the staff thought about the loud English group who had taken over the small restaurant, but the mixture between half-amused smirks and irritated eye rolls didn't signal anything but the fervent hope that the team would vacate the premises as soon as possible.

"No, no, I'm not done here," Gwaine said, patting the air with his free hand in an attempt to quell the group's protest. "Shut it. Shut it, you bloody wankers. I'm speaking here."

"That's the problem," Owain said.

"Oi, you -- see if I ever save you from some horny bird again --"

"Is that a promise?" Owain asked.

"Risk life and limb for you, intervening when that harpy nearly had her claws in you --"

Owain leaned forward. "No, really, stop joking with me. Is it a promise? You'll leave me and the birds alone?"

"As I was saying," Gwaine said, ignoring Owain and the collective groan of the entire team, "In all seriousness, Morgana, Leon's a lucky fuck to have ended up with you and if he ever forgets it, make sure to let the rest of us know, and we'll remind him. Leon, you've been in love with Morgana ever since I've known you, and you're a lucky fuck to have her, but if you ever screw up and she locks you out of the house, don't you dare come crying to me because my couch? Completely unsympathetic."

The group chuckled. Merlin cast a sidelong glance at Arthur and smiled when he saw the twinkle of amusement in his eye. The flight over from London had been short, but Arthur had been tense and stressed for days, and not even the suggestion of heading to the airplane loo on the way over for a blow job had broken through Arthur's brooding. It hadn't been brooding -- not exactly -- but Merlin and the rest of the team knew the look on Arthur's face very well. It was the look he got when he was running possible scenarios in his head, over and over, and adjusting his plans to the most minute detail.

It was nice to see Arthur finally relax, even if it was for only a little while. 

"Of course, you'll name your firstborn son _and_ daughter after me --"

"Fuck, no," Leon said.

"Gwaine and Gwainette?" Galahad said with a smirk, while Lamorak shook his head.

"Poor kids," Pellinor said.

"And I'll be their favourite uncle because I'll show them the world that the rest of you would never show your kids --"

"Fuck, no," Morgana said.

"So much for them having _good_ kids," Bedivere said with a smirk. He raised his champagne glass for a sip, but Bohrs stopped him with a sharp elbow. Bedivere grunted and said, "Hurry up with the bloody toast already, I'm parched!"

"Of course, I'll even waive my usual fee and will follow little Gwaine and Gwainette on their first dates and protect them from afar with the assistance of my scope and a few armour-piercing bullets --"

"Definitely taking you up on that," Leon said with a firm nod. Morgana laughed.

Gwaine looked around the group. "And to the rest of you, especially a certain couple who get into each other's pants on a regular basis, making even _me_ look bad, bloody well _get on with it already_ , because none of us are going to wait a dog's age before one of you proposes."

Gwaine gave Merlin and Arthur a pointed look. Arthur chuckled under his breath, and his hand slid from the back of Merlin's chair to brush down his spine. Merlin ducked his head and grinned.

"Hear, hear," Morgana said, raising her glass. "The sooner, the better."

"Are you done yet?" Arthur asked.

"Why? Do you have somewhere you need to be, princess?" Gwaine asked, and when Arthur shook his head ruefully and raised a hand in capitulation, continued, "And, you ranky lot, I've got one more thing to say."

He paused for dramatic effect.

" _I totally called it._ You all owe me twenty quid --"

"Bollocks!"

"Foul! I call foul! I want to see the pool grid --"

"I'm not paying you squat!"

"Oh my _God_ , you made a bet on when we would be engaged?" Morgana roared, her tone torn somewhere between amusement and outrage. She immediately turned to Leon and asked, "Did you put a bet down? Tell me you did. Did we clean up --"

"Oi, shut up you sore losers. You know bloody well I've won. I know you _all_ checked the Pool Tracker dot com website as soon as you heard, and you all know I had this week blocked off, so fork it over. A nice, crisp twenty-pound bill from each of you lot, please --"

Gwen was laughing so hard, she had tears in her eyes. Lance took the champagne glass out of her hand before she spilled it all over the table. The round of protests grew in volume, but Gwaine stood in the middle of it all, completely unaffected, waving his hand in a _come on, now, you know you lost, man up and pay up_ waffle that only made matters worse.

In the end, it was Arthur who got up, deliberately fished his wallet out of his pocket, plucked out a crisp twenty-pound note, and waved it in the air, handing it over to Gwaine without protest.

"What did you bet?" Morgana asked.

"That _you_ would pop the question, not Leon," Arthur said, sitting down.

"Oi!" Leon said, frowning. Morgana grinned and leaned against him in case Leon would surge across the table in protest, but it was all in good fun.

Bohrs and Bedivere forked over second; Lance a close third, and only because Gwen was still laughing, and he was torn between making certain that she didn't tip her chair over, or collapse from lack of oxygen. Geraint and Galahad were sullen as Gwaine yanked the notes from their fingers, Lamorak and Pellinor called in an IOU, but Kay…

Kay narrowed his eyes, crumpled the twenty until it was a tiny little ball, and dipped it in the champagne before handing it over. "If I ever find out how you cheated…"

" _Moi_?" Gwaine asked, massacring the little French he knew with a loud, overbearing drawl, planting an offended hand on his chest. "Cheat? I would never --"

There was a round of catcalling and booing around the table, which dissolved into laughter, and finally, Geraint said, "Hey, why doesn't Perce have to pay?"

Gwaine glanced down at Perceval -- and Merlin thought that Perceval had a grin far too much like the cat who'd gotten the canary -- and beamed at the group. "Oh, he's already promised to tuck it into my --"

" _NO_ ," Bohrs said loudly, planting his fingers in his ears. "No. No. No. It's bad enough that I have to _listen_ to you, I don't want to know the details."

Gwaine sighed theatrically, but he stayed on his feet. "Now, before I finish my toast --"

"Oh, fuck, there's _more_?"

"-- I'd like to point out that, although we're waiting for another couple to get their bloody acts together already --"

Again, Gwaine gave Arthur and Merlin a pointed look that he stretched out as long as possible in the hopes that one of them would crack. Arthur only leaned back in his seat, smug as always, his hand on the back of Merlin's chair once more. Merlin ducked his head and glanced sidelong at Arthur, snickering when he saw Arthur answer Gwaine's appeal with two fingers rudely raised in the air.

"-- _someone else_ has an announcement to make, and I know they wouldn't want to steal Morgana and Leon's thunder, but, come on, we're all family here, and we've been waiting for this particular bit for _ages_ \--"

Almost at once, every pair of eyes turned to Gwen and Lance. Gwen, who had been hiccupping ever since she managed to calm down, looked around with wide, alarmed eyes, and, except for one last hiccup, was frozen in silence. Never one to keep a secret unless it belonged to someone else, Lance shook his head, his cheeks colouring faintly, and stared down at the table.

No one said anything until Morgana broke the silence with a happy shriek and darted around the table to throw her arms around Gwen. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't -- I wasn't -- _oh my God, Gwaine, how did you find out!_ " Gwen blurted out, and all at once there was another round of enthusiastic congratulations to both Gwen and Lance, who were decidedly uncomfortable being the centre of attention. 

"Shorter list to tell you how I didn't notice," Gwaine said cheerfully, shoving a hand into his pocket. He waved his champagne glass in the air, trying for modesty as he said, "For starters, I noticed that your gait has changed, your stride has shortened, you know, tell-tale signs of a redistribution of your centre of gravity --"

"Bollocks," Geraint said. In more hushed tones, he asked Galahad, "Is he that good?"

Galahad raised his shoulders in a _If he is, we're out of a job_ shrug.

"-- and for another, when we were down in your bunker while Merlin showed off his latest creation, I went through your purse looking for a mint and found your doctor's appointments for the next, oh, six months --"

"You bloody snoop!" Gwen reached over and swatted Gwaine's arm.

"-- and finally, and this is the most obvious one," Gwaine put down his drink for a moment and did a little drum roll rap on the table before standing up straight, "I _hate_ apple juice. I hate it. I can't stand it. I can smell it from clear across the room -- even if I hadn't already overheard Lance ask the waitress to bring you apple juice in a champagne glass in the first place --"

"I don't get it," Bohrs said, looked pained to have to admit it. "What, exactly, are we happy about here?"

The silence fell on the table with the chirp of a dying bird. Kay snickered. Geraint shifted his seat a bit to the left in an _I don't know this bloke, it's not my fault he's socially inept_ manoeuvre. In the end, it was Gwen who reached over, put a hand on Bohrs' arm, and said, "I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant. _Oh my GOD_!" Bohrs pushed Lance out of his way and gave Gwen a big hug.

Gwaine, nonplussed, waited for the hubbub to settle before he said, "And, unfortunately for you lot, I'm pleased to announce that --"

"Oh, fuck, not this too --"

"-- each and every one of you owe me _another_ twenty quid."

This time, the complaints and protests were loud enough that the waiting staff vanished into the kitchen, where, despite the clatter of pots and pans, it was probably _less_ noisy. Merlin winced against the noise, pressing a hand against his ear, laughing quietly to himself as Gwaine tried to calm people down with a placating _easy there_ gesture. What drew the chortle from him was the way Perceval was subtly shifting his seat as far as he could, just to get away from Gwaine before the mob launched itself at him.

"No, no, absolutely the fuck not," Kay said, still going strong even when the rest of the crowd had depleted the air in their lungs to maintain the volume. "You're not getting a bleeding penny more out of us until we verify the pool. Merlin --"

Merlin squawked and looked up, round-eyed and wondering how he got pulled into this mess.

"-- check the results, yeah?" Kay asked. Merlin glanced around and saw everyone was looking at him expectantly.

Gwaine sighed theatrically, "If you _must_ \--"

"Oh, we _must_ ," Bedivere confirmed.

"Why me? You lot have phones, you can just hop online and check the site --" Merlin glanced around.

"Because as far as any of us know, you didn't bet on any of the pools, and that makes you the only honest, completely unbiased judge," Kay said.

"You didn't bet?" Arthur asked. Merlin shook his head no. 

"Why not?" Galahad asked.

"Because unlike you pillocks, I'm not keen on handing my money over to Gwaine," Merlin said. He was already fishing for his phone; it took him a few minutes to load the website, remember the pool's name, and use the password to get in. Scrolling down to the right date took longer. "Let's see. It's set up for birth date --"

There was another round of hooting and booing, and Merlin waited until everyone had settled down before continuing.

"-- so if we're going by whoever's _dead wrong_ , that would be Gwaine, because he has the entire week down for a baby boy --"

To anyone passing by -- indeed, anyone trying to find a seat at the restaurant -- the group was no more than a loud, brash, arrogant, exuberant bunch who had never gotten out of their frat boy stage and were probably quickly approaching the _very drunk and disorderly_ stage of the evening, but with exception of the single glass of champagne that none of them had so much as sipped at yet, no alcohol had crossed the table. They were all on duty the next day, needing to be completely alert and aware. After Olaf's revelations -- none of which had come as much of a surprise -- the team was even more on edge.

This dinner at a rustic restaurant on the fringes of Evreux's city limits had been Arthur's idea, because he'd recognized that if he were wound up, the team no doubt was, too. They needed to unwind, to relax, to put the stress of the clusterfuck that the next day most definitely would turn into aside, and then and only then would they be at their sharpest.

Arthur needed them at their sharpest.

His plans centred around three priorities: to make certain that the prototype didn't fall into enemy hands, _whoever_ those hands belonged to; to ensure that Gwen and Morgana, who would be at the site, were protected and kept safe at all times; and, most importantly, to get the team out alive.

If reaching all three priorities meant letting whoever was coming to hash it out there on the testing field and bowing out gracefully, then Excalibur was more than happy to let them go at it. If securing the prototype meant blowing it to kingdom come, well, Owain knew what he was going to have to do. Making certain that Gwen and Morgana were kept safe came down to one thing and one thing only -- 

_"Do not engage. You have your position assignments, and I want you to keep to them. On my command, you're going to collapse back on my position, and at all times, you're going to keep Gwen and Morgana in the middle. We're going to clear out as soon as we can --"_

_"We're not helpless, you know," Morgana said with a scowl. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees, wringing her hands together. Leon, beside her, wasn't happy that she insisted on accompanying them, and Lance -- more than anyone -- was ash-white with worry. Gwen stubbornly refused to listen to reason._

_"We know that," Arthur said wearily, rubbing his forehead with his hand, dropping his arm in a gesture that sketched out just how exhausted he was. "You do remember the part where I said I'm letting you in this if you agree to do exactly what I say?"_

_"I can outshoot most of you --"_

_"Morgana, for fuck's sake," Arthur said, losing patience. "Did you spend years training in the army? Did you get drilled over and over until a manoeuvre became muscle memory? Do you know how to say_ yes sir _and bloody well do it when someone orders you to do something? Now stop arguing with me, and just do it."_

_The living room of the rented house -- a house that had been cleared first by the Directory, then again by the team in a more thorough search -- was large enough to accommodate every single member of the team, and they were all silent now. It was rare to see Arthur on the edge of snapping, but he was snapping now._

_Very slowly, Morgana raised her arm. Arthur sighed heavily and said, "Yes, Morgana?"_

_"What about Merlin? I mean, as far as they know, he's kind of useless? That's the cover he was given, right? So why aren't you having the team protect him, too?"_

_Arthur looked at Merlin with an expression full of sadness and heartache and pain, because sometime on the flight over, he'd come to terms with the very simple fact that if he wanted his plan to work, if he wanted the team to progress on this mission, then he'd have to let Merlin go. He'd have to dangle Merlin as bait. Whether or not the enemy fell for it remained to be seen, but Arthur had worked over the details of the trap he'd set until not even he could see a way out._

_"Because he's our ace in the hole," Arthur said quietly. Morgana and Gwen might not know what that meant, but the rest of Excalibur did. An ace in the hole was still an ace in the hole: if it didn't work, all of Arthur's plans would fall like a deck of cards, and Merlin would pay the price._

Merlin looked up at Arthur when he felt Arthur's hand run down his spine. Merlin leaned against Arthur, kissed his cheek and whispered, "It'll be fine."

Arthur nodded wearily and kissed him back.

"Oi, you two," Gwaine said, his mouth split in a broad, cheeky grin. "Are you _sure_ there isn't anything you want to announce?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Aren't you done toasting yet?"

"'Course not," Gwaine said.

The rest of the team groaned and said in chorus, "Sit down, Gwaine!"

 

* * *

 

"Oh, God," Arthur said. He was sitting on the very edge of their bed, stripped down to his briefs, his muscles tense and rippling in the low light of the lamp on the bedside table. "Morgana's engaged, Gwen's pregnant, and you --"

"We're _married_ , for all intents and purposes," Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile.

Arthur didn't answer.

Merlin watched Arthur's reflection in the mirror, ducking his eyes only once to rinse out his mouth of toothpaste. He wiped his face, put assorted toiletries away -- he swore, Arthur's OCD was rubbing off on him -- and flicked off the light as he headed into the bedroom.

"Okay, intervention time," Merlin said, pushing Arthur back. There was resistance until Arthur realized it really was futile and laid down on the bed. Merlin straddled his hips, grumbling as he pushed Arthur further up onto the bed so that neither one of them would slip off.

"Intervention?"

"First of all, we all know Morgana would be here whether or not she were engaged or even knew what was going on in the background. She would've found out, yeah? She would've appeared at the last possible minute and then, we really would've been screwed," Merlin said. He planted his hands on either side of Arthur's head and leaned down over him.

Arthur closed his eyes tight, raised his shoulders in a shrug, and groaned in response -- the closest Merlin knew he'd come to agreement.

"And Gwen? She's been an army wife for a while. She's from a long line of army wives. She knows, Arthur. She knows there's risk. And she's capable, or she wouldn't have bullied you into agreeing to let her volunteer. If you were in her shoes, if you were the one staying home and I were out there, you'd be doing the same thing." When Arthur started to shake his head, Merlin pressed on, "If you knew you could do one thing to make sure that we were safe, that _I_ was safe, you'd do it, and don't you dare lie to me right now --"

Arthur grunted.

"Besides, I guarantee you that Lance and Gwen have been arguing about this, and whatever arguments you had against Gwen helping us out? Lance had them too, and then some, and she shot them down, every one. And push comes to shove, I bet you that Lance's not planning on letting Gwen anywhere near the slightest hint of danger, and she'll probably be the safest one of us out there."

Arthur covered his eyes with his forearm.

"I have it on good authority that they're going to be wearing full body armour, too," Merlin said, reaching to pull Arthur's arm from his eyes. "The long underwear thing that you're going to be presenting to the government at the next weapons show?"

Arthur sighed heavily, only somewhat mollified.

"And me --" 

Arthur's gaze drifted to look at Merlin. Merlin knew that they had done everything and planned everything that was in their power to do, and to plan to make certain that Gwen and Morgana would be safe. He also knew that Arthur had to scale back the protection that he'd originally placed on Merlin in order to set up the trap for the enemy, and that Arthur _hated_ himself for it.

"Me, I'm going to keep my promise," Merlin said, leaning down to kiss Arthur. It was a slow, soft kiss, warm and dry, full of affection and tenderness. "Whatever happens. Good or bad."

He kissed Arthur again, taking his time, breathing his air, sucking at Arthur's lower lip, cradling his jaw.

He didn't want Arthur to see him afraid, even though he _was_ afraid. He was downright fucking _terrified_. He didn't want things to go wrong, he didn't want to end up in enemy hands, he didn't want to think about all the awful scenarios that could happen then.

But they both knew the odds. They'd stayed up late into the night talking about possibilities -- Arthur spreading blueprints and plans on the bed while Merlin slept until the crinkle of papers was too loud, or Merlin pulling his knees to his chest and softly offering magical alternatives and possibilities until Arthur told him that, no, he _couldn't_ , because his magic might get found out prematurely.

And this? All of it? It killed Arthur.

The odds would be much better if Merlin could use his magic openly, if he could give the NWO a run for their money, if he could distract the Directory with a rain of fire and lose MI-5 and MI-6 and the rest of the alphabet soup in a mire that wasn't there a second ago and drown them in a thick fog. There were simply too many unknowns, too many variables, and not enough control on any of it.

Merlin broke the kiss and looked at Arthur; the glisten of suppressed tears made Arthur's eyes all the brighter blue. Merlin frowned a little; he touched Arthur's cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

"Don't," he whispered.

 _Don't_ worry. _Don't_ think about it.

It had been barely sunrise on the day that Arthur had finally been able to stop planning everything, and it was only because they'd agreed. _They'd agreed_.

Arthur had hovered over Merlin the way Merlin was over Arthur now, thrust deep inside Merlin and not moving, refusing to move. Instead of making Merlin beg for it, it had been Arthur who'd begged, over and over again. "Do whatever you can, Merlin. I don't care if it means that they'll know. Do whatever you can to come home to me."

"Because I will," Merlin promised, and it didn't matter that his words were without context. Arthur understood. Arthur knew.

It was Arthur who pulled him down for another kiss, just as slow and heated and sweet as the first. It was Merlin who pressed a second kiss, tugging at Arthur's lips until Arthur opened for him. It was Arthur who ran his hands up Merlin's arms and down his sides. It was Merlin who licked into Arthur's mouth and chased after his tongue.

They kissed and touched and licked and kissed some more.

The house was quiet except for a few distant murmurs of sound: a television set somewhere, set at low volume, voices strained behind closed doors several floors and hallways away, the sometimes-tinkle of tree branches tap-tap-tapping against each other, drowned by the whistle of chill in the air.

Arthur made a soft, whimpering sound that was drowned by a moan. Merlin squeezed his eyes as tight as he could and swallowed a sob he desperately didn't want Arthur to hear.

It was not going to go badly. It would not. It couldn't. Everything would be perfect. The team had run through a few of the most likely scenarios in the privacy of one of the Pendragon warehouses. They'd verbally drilled the next steps of the plan until even Gwaine could recite them in his sleep.

Arthur wrapped his legs around Merlin's hips and pulled him down. Merlin sank on top of Arthur and rocked in tiny little thrusts that left them both breathless and gasping.

"M -- Merlin," Arthur whispered.

Merlin slid a hand under Arthur's arm, sliding it between his back and the mattress. Arthur wrapped his other arm around Merlin's shoulder, and they slid, bit by bit, always kissing, to the head of the bed, where they knocked nearly all of the pillows out of the way.

Merlin fell on top of Arthur. He kissed and licked and suckled, always returning to Arthur's mouth, because kissing Arthur was like breathing air, and he needed every last little gasp to survive.

Arthur pushed at Merlin's pyjama bottoms. His fingers dug into Merlin's hips hard enough to leave bruises. He reached until he had Merlin's arse in hand and squeezed and pulled.

Merlin moaned as they rubbed against each other, the smooth silk of Arthur's briefs like the grate of sandpaper against his cock. He lifted his hips just enough to reach down and push at the offending material, and Arthur unwrapped his legs from around Merlin only enough for Merlin to reach past the elastic and to take Arthur in hand. It was an awkward, terrible angle. Merlin could only manage a few strokes of his too-dry palm against Arthur's so-smooth cock before Arthur's legs tightened and wrenched them together.

They clung to each other like this until Merlin grunted in frustration and Arthur made an unearthly and needy sound and Merlin remembered _magic_ and made pants and pyjama bottoms _disappear_.

The contact of bare skin against bare made them both shudder. Arthur reached between them and took Merlin, rubbing him with a jerky, hungry rhythm.

"Please," Arthur managed between kisses, but the rest of whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he reached behind Merlin's head and pulled him down for more.

Merlin touched Arthur's cock again, but the complaint in his throat told Merlin that wasn't what Arthur wanted. Merlin's hand slid lower, gently stroking and pulling at Arthur's balls, only to be told again that he was too far off the mark. There was a hungry, pleased hum when Merlin's fingers skirted Arthur's hole.

Merlin pushed a finger in, gentle, light, not wanting to hurt, but Arthur squeezed his legs around Merlin's hips and there was a pinch in his brow and his kisses became harder and hungrier until Merlin _got it_ , until he understood.

Arthur needed this. And in a way, Merlin did, too.

He didn't bother to reach for the lube that was on the side-table. He used magic to slick the way. Not a lot. Just enough to slide a finger in, for Arthur to feel the burn. He pushed his finger in and out a few times before adding a second finger, a third.

"N -- Now," Arthur said in between choked gasps and biting kisses. "Now, Merlin. P -- please."

Merlin pulled away only enough to rest his forehead on Arthur's shoulder, to look down between them where Arthur's cock was red and hard and angry, at his own as he took himself in hand and pushed against Arthur's hole. It was teasing at first, but the way Arthur's legs insistently pulled at Merlin, the way his fingers squeezed into Merlin's shoulders, his fingernails scratching down his side -- Merlin gave up any pretence of _teasing_.

He pushed in, groaning at the resistance. He kept pushing until he was seated all the way in. He paused to give Arthur a moment, to give _himself_ a moment, to see if Arthur was all right, but Arthur was having none of it. His legs were tight around Merlin's hips, his heels dug into the small of Merlin's back, his fingers leaving bruises just under Merlin's shoulderblades,

Merlin pulled out and thrust in, sharp, hard. Arthur's breath was a hiss on his lips before the bite that warned, _you had better not stop -- don't you dare stop_ , and Merlin didn't. He couldn't.

He took one of Arthur's legs and freed himself from the vice grip that Arthur had on him, pushing the leg back and back until the knee nearly brushed Arthur's chest. He let it fall on his shoulder, braced himself with arms on either side of Arthur, fucking in a broken rhythm.

Arthur was wrecked under Merlin; his hands reached out to grab whatever was in reach -- the duvet, the single solitary pillow that teetered just on the edge of the bed, Merlin's arms, Merlin's chest.

He pulled Merlin down for a kiss; Merlin slowed and stopped and obliged, the kiss wet and breathy and desperate and too messy, but Merlin didn't care. He wanted this, he needed this as much as Arthur did.

When they broke this time, Merlin's hips rolled into Arthur at a slower, steadier rhythm, rising to a crescendo in speed and force, the bed shaking under them, the frame clacking into the wall with the unmistakable knocking that was loud enough to be heard through the house. Arthur reached for his cock, gave it a few pulls, but Merlin knocked Arthur's arm away because he wanted it to be _his_ hand that brought Arthur off.

Merlin shifted his thrusting angle ever so slightly, and Arthur's back arched in the way Merlin knew it would, the accompanying moan even louder than the bedframe striking the wall. It didn't matter how many times that Merlin heard them; the sounds Arthur made when Merlin fucked him tore Merlin's willpower to shreds.

Arthur came with a cry and hot pulses; the unconscious squeeze of his ring muscle around Merlin's cock pushed Merlin over that last edge, and he stuttered to a stop, a few more thrusts only to make sure Arthur was full of his come.

Merlin collapsed on top of Arthur; Arthur's leg slipped from his shoulder and settled on his hip again. Arthur kissed him -- missing his lips at first and finding them a moment later -- and his lips were swollen and soft and wet, the kisses insensible and lost.

They clung to each other until Merlin's cock softened; Merlin pulled out but stayed where he was, kissing away Arthur's wince. He used his magic to clean them up, to return the pillows to the bed, to draw the blankets out from under them and to cover them, because neither one of them wanted to let the other go.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

As far as diversionary tactics went, this one didn't even rate.

Arthur said as much out loud to their tour guide, a tall, thin man with tin-coloured hair and small round glasses on the tip of his crooked nose. His face was wrinkled, his skin was a shade of dark that Arthur couldn't even name, and his hands were gnarled with a mixture of arthritis and years of fine, delicate work.

Ernest Howland -- _Doctor, please_ \-- was one of the pompous white coats who went about in pressed trousers and ironed button-downs and Dr. Who bow ties, and aside from the employment file that the company had on him, Arthur didn't know anything about this man. Merlin had tried to track down journal papers, academic records, even the faintest casual mention of _Doctor_ Ernest Howland, but had come up empty. The driver's license had been first issued in the mid-1970s, the birth certificate in 1978, and the passport in 1999, not that _Doctor_ Ernest Howland travelled anywhere but between the Pendragon office in London and his lab in France.

Arthur didn't trust him.

His name, his manner, his accent -- it didn't match with his too English-sounding name, and if Arthur were hard-pressed to guess, he'd say that Ernest was from somewhere in the Côte d'Ivoire, maybe somewhere close to Senegal, if not Senegal itself. Ernest had a smooth demeanour, a friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes, and an arrogance that made Arthur think of any number of dictators that he'd seen brought down in the last decade.

 _Doctor_ or not, Ernest's work was decidedly on the highly-theoretical, completely-scientific side, written in an alien language from some far-flung galaxy; the mathematics solid and sound if the way Merlin had scratched his head going over the equations was any indication. 

"No one told me that you would be here _on time_ ," Ernest said, petulant, like a child.

It was their second walk-through of the facilities -- several single-level outbuildings cleverly disguised to blend in with the rest of the countryside, farmland and barns and all, with even a few cows and goats grazing the sprawling fields -- and Arthur was decidedly on edge. Ernest's cutting tone -- a tone that hit too close to home, because Arthur was sure he heard himself in the man's voice -- did not help matters entirely.

"I see my reputation precedes me," Arthur said, ignoring Merlin's suppressed snicker. Ernest, however, glanced over Arthur's shoulder to look at Merlin with disdain, as if he wondered what _that_ was doing in his precious laboratory. "Let's just get this over with. Demonstrate to me just how much your prototype doesn't work, so that I can sign off on the paperwork to reassign the budget to something that actually does as advertised."

Ernest glowered. He turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor; Arthur, already bored with the man's attitude, stayed where he was, catching Merlin's arm to keep him from following after.

Gwen and Morgana had automatically taken a few steps after Ernest, but Lance and Leon held them back.

"But --" Gwen began, Lance silencing her with a shake of his head.

Gwen and Morgana were dressed in dark pantsuits, looking every bit the professionals they were, though Arthur was certain that Morgana hid a gun somewhere on her person. He couldn't imagine _where_ , and he didn't want to know -- that was something best left to Leon. Arthur had asked three times; Morgana had rolled her eyes once, and confirmed, yes, they were wearing the skin-tight body armour.

Leon and Lance, Kay and Perceval, like the rest of the team, were wearing tactical gear, and Arthur had made no apologies for their outfits when they arrived. He'd addressed Ernest's sputters with a pointed look, a slow gaze around the building, and a tilted head before reminding the man that _he'd_ been the one to complain about the lack of security on the testing site and how they couldn't possibly perform the testing until they'd secured appropriate personnel.

"Well, here they are," Arthur had said with an exaggerated huff. "Takes away that excuse, doesn't it?"

"But they're not qualified!" Ernest had complained. 

Arthur had taken a moment to eye Ernest up and down with a critical look before saying, "And you're one to know?" 

That was the one and only explanation he had for bringing his full team to the testing site -- the only explanation that he needed to give. Still, there was something nagging at him -- it had been just a little too easy for Ernest so make the complaint and for Arthur to immediately have the solution. If he wasn't already walking into this with the suspicion that it was a set-up, he knew it now.

Ernest had reached the end of the corridor, a hand hovering just over the numeric pad attached to the retinal scanner; out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Ernest slash his access card down the side and glance over his shoulder before shifting his body to hide the numeric keypad, aborting the moment with an under-his-breath swear when he realized that the group was nowhere near him.

Arthur spent the few moments before Ernest stomped his way back to them to admire Merlin's outfit. It was almost as if he'd taken great pains to project a harmless air. He was wearing a red T-shirt with The Flash's logo under his button-down shirt; the shirt was open at the throat and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal a watch on one wrist and a leather band on the other. He wore Doc Marten shite-kicker boots under his black jeans -- for once, he'd left his skinny jeans at home and had gone for a boot-cut, though the studded belt around his waist offered just the right amount of flash. His hair was half-spiky, half-ruffled and completely post-sex worthy, which wasn't far from the truth considering that Arthur had rolled Merlin onto his side that morning, spooning him for a sleepy half hour before sliding his thigh between Merlin's leg and fucking him like that.

There was a backpack with equipment on his shoulder -- pared-down equipment, because Merlin didn't want the enemy to get their hands on his shite, but with everything he thought he might need for this mission, and then some -- and a leather jacket in the crook of his arm. 

No wonder Ernest didn't think much of Merlin, despite the shiny new All-Access Pendragon Consultant card he'd been issued right before they'd left London. Merlin couldn't look any less the part of a professional if he'd _tried_.

"If you would simply come this way," Ernest said impatiently, coming so close that he practically breathed down Arthur's neck. Kay cleared his throat in warning; there was a faint, deliberate rustle of nylon fabric brushing against fatigues that was the sound of Kay adjusting his vest and making sure that the barrel of his gun flashed in the light. Ernest took a step back, intimidated but unfazed; he glared at Arthur until Arthur turned to look at him and swept a hand across his body to point a finger behind him. "This way."

"No, I don't think so," Arthur said, reaching up to straighten Merlin's collar and passing an affectionate touch on Merlin's cheek. He did it mostly to make himself feel better, but also because it made Ernest uncomfortable. Merlin ducked his chin and watched Arthur through his eyelashes in a coquettish glance that roused every protective instinct that Arthur had, and he struggled to ignore them. They had a mission.

It wasn't until Ernest shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again that Arthur turned to look at him.

"I've already seen the employee lunch room, the cafeteria, the library, the front office, and the guard's office. The terrarium is nice but a complete waste of space, and the aquarium? Whoever thought of putting an octopus in a tank in the basement of a building in France's backside -- I want them fired." Arthur paused for effect. "The labs can wait until after the demonstration to determine where the equipment should be relocated after you fail --"

"It will not fail," Ernest said with a furious hiss, which was a mean feat considering the lack of sibilants in the declaration.

"-- and, like I said, why don't we get this whole circus over and done with? There's other things I'd like to do today."

"But we are not ready," Ernest said, and, maybe if it wasn't for his already dark skin, the man might have blushed furiously in embarrassment. At any other time, Arthur might feel sorry for what he was putting the man through, but that was before he remembered how little they knew about the man. Not even the Directory or Olaf had anything on him in their databases.

Arthur had already turned around to walk toward the stairs to the main level. "We'll wait."

 

* * *

 

"I don't think he likes you very much," Merlin murmured in Arthur's ear.

Arthur resisted the urge to smirk. He did, however, turn toward Ernest, who was wasting time glowering at them from behind a bank of measuring equipment, and raised his arm to tap on his wrist. Ernest lowered his gaze and muttered something under his breath. "He doesn't have to like me."

"He doesn't like me either," Merlin said, and Arthur could hear the frown in his voice, but that was definitely more for the act that they were putting on than anything else. Merlin was having himself a grand old time in this role that they'd been made to play, and as adorably infuriating as it was, Arthur still preferred Merlin when he was being himself. When he was _Merlin_ , he was still scatterbrained when he was working on his projects; he still forgot to eat breakfast; he still woke up groggy and loose-limbed after a marathon night of enthusiastic sex, but at least, as _himself_ , Merlin was a lot less submissive, forthright, and solid.

"Good," Arthur said, raising a meaningful eyebrow. 

Merlin's soft laughter was warm against his ear, and there was the lightest touch of Merlin's forehead on Arthur's shoulder. There was a squeeze at the crook of his arm, hidden by Merlin's body, and it was a warning that Arthur really wanted to ignore right now.

He knew he wasn't keeping up his role. He knew he wasn't being subtle about it. But there would come a point where his obsessive checks on his phone for text messages and from the way he passed on military jargon to his team who were scattered around the compound, someone would notice and people would start to wonder. 

_Fuck it_ , Arthur said. The more he looked around, the more every single thing screamed at him to get out. To get out now. To take what he could and save whoever he could, because it was going to go wrong in so many ways, and he couldn't tell when it was going to happen, but it would be soon.

After a short off-road trip to the back of the property, which was shielded from view -- both casual and electronic -- by thick shrubbery masquerading as a forest with a camouflage canopy overhead and an electronic barrier that was several degrees more powerful than the one around Uther's home, and guarded by all sorts of electronic surveillance, electric fencing, barbed wire, and on-foot patrols, they had marched right to the main tent at the edge of the open field, where everyone promptly panicked. 

Morgana had gone to work her public relation magic with the director who was in charge of, but not directly involved in the project, reassuring him that whatever they might have heard from Arthur or Uther or anyone else, that they were going to do their best to salvage the program and see what they could do to keep the research going. He heard her say something along the lines of "important prototype", "new technology" and "future of the company" and had to be impressed at the quality of bollocks that was coming out of her mouth. It was nearly an hour later, and now that he had been reassured of their "intentions" -- and Arthur used the term loosely -- the director was telling Morgana every lame joke in his repertoire, simultaneously flattered by her attentions and frightened by her charm. It didn't help that Leon loomed nearby, his reflective sunglasses giving him an ominous air.

Gwen, meanwhile, had gone to observe as the technicians set up the prototype, lingering nearby but not getting in the way, and at least she listened when Lance whispered in her ear or gestured for her to move closer to the rest of them in the tent.

The prototype was nothing special. It was a box approximately the size of a toaster, if the toaster was industrial-sized and could spit out enough toast to keep the entire team satisfied in one shot. The surface of the box had a silvery stainless-steel shine, but Arthur knew from the schematics that it was constructed of largely inert materials except for the centre core. It sat -- a little crooked -- on an inverted conical pyramid that looked as if it was made out of the same material of the box; three technicians were on the far side, bent down and peering into an open partition that Arthur guessed was the power source for the disrupter.

The multiple long lengths of cable curled around the base were dead giveaways.

There was a protruding, ringed cannon that made Arthur think of the Daleks in Dr. Who, and he kept expecting it to broadcast _Exterminate! Exterminate_ and to roll toward them, hell-bent on world domination.

Arthur shuddered inwardly. Considering the mission, he suspected that his mental imagery wasn't far from the truth.

Thinking about Dr. Who reminded Arthur of Ernest's bow tie, and, by guilt of association, Ernest himself. Arthur heaved an annoyed sigh for effect, rolled his eyes, glanced at his watch one more time, and turned toward Ernest, gesturing with a _hurry up, I don't have all day_ roll of his hand.

It had taken Ernest several minutes to calm his people down after Arthur's surprising early arrival and to herd them back to work, and it had taken several more minutes before Ernest stopped glaring at Arthur with the intensity of a thousand suns. Now, however, Ernest was looming over the technicians who were talking quickly in French and gesturing animatedly toward the computer monitors that they'd set up on a rickety table. Their voices were growing louder and louder, and at this point, Arthur was fairly certain that no one needed any special equipment to eavesdrop on them. Ernest's team could probably be heard over at the next _farm_ , which was located well over ten kilometres away.

"Is there a problem?" Merlin asked, keeping his voice low. Despite his facility for languages, Merlin's French was on the spotty side when he was treated to rapid-fire spitballs and Karate hands.

Arthur listened for a moment, and said, "Can't get some of the software online. Something about needing to boot it up in the right order but since they moved the prototype out of the lab for field testing everything is screwed up."

"Oh." Merlin looked over at the table thoughtfully. "I should offer to help."

Arthur glanced around the compound -- what little of it he could see. It didn't matter anyway, because he had the maps and the blueprints committed to memory. 

There were three large outbuildings with laboratories, offices, administration; but it was mostly open space for materials engineering and welding and construction and fabrication. The real laboratories -- the areas with classified projects and their own department heads and team leaders and eccentric scientists -- were all underground, three floors down the main building and two in the others. The smallest building on the property was the long silver greenhouse that was more of a warehouse with transport containers hidden inside, each and every one of them barricaded with welded steel bars and padlocks that were as large as Arthur's head.

The testing ground was a kilometre down on the deep property, surrounded by land that hadn't been cleared under the pretext of rumours that it was haunted, that it heralded back to Roman heydays when the Gauls hunted in these very parts and practiced human sacrifice to old Gods whose names were long forgotten. There were ghost stories, too, of the Gauls laying in wait for a hapless traveller, and Arthur remembered when Uther had acquired the land and told him all those stories.

He hadn't been able to sleep a wink for weeks. Arthur was never sure who had told him the first story, but each and every one of those stories had stayed with him, just like he was sure these same stories stayed with children from around these parts who were frightened into finishing their dinner and going to bed before the sun set. The stories served well by keeping the nosybodies away.

While the testing grounds were well sheltered from the nosy and curious of every level from housewife to foreign nation, they were a logistical nightmare when it came to keeping it secure.

Despite the shrubbery and the electric fence and the camouflage canopy overhead, the testing area was wide open. Anyone with enough determination could breach the proverbial fences and get in. If they tried from the east, they would hit the reinforced observation bunkers -- and Gwaine, Geraint, and Galahad, who were positioned as overwatch to both protect them and guard their retreat if need be. If they tried from the west, they would have plenty of cover between the cramped parking lot full of beat-up trucks and ATVs that were mainly used to transport scientists and technicians and guests and equipment from the main buildings and the two rugged storage sheds whose north sides looked like they'd seen a blast or two. South was the main entrance with flimsy gate and two guards with clipboards instead of handguns, but North --

North, and making up the largest aspect of the testing ground, was the Crater.

The crater was the remnants of an archaeological dig into a mound by the previous owner of the property -- a self-appointed crackpot who told everyone who would listen that he was from a long line of druids. Neo-pagan druids, maybe, if the equally long list of public indecency charges had been anything to go by. Arthur had never met the man himself, and Uther had never spoken of him except to recount how he'd gotten the property for cheap, but the locals knew old Jean-Marie and had a nice stockpile of stories to tell. 

Just like the stories about the Romans and the Gauls and the bloody battles they fought here, there were stories of Roman hoards tucked away into the countryside, hidden in mounds; of burial sites of noble Gauls who were entombed with whatever they had taken from their enemies.

So Jean-Marie, as other men like him had done throughout the countryside here and in England, had staked a claim on property and began to dig.

The Crater was the result -- a deep hole in the ground that was surrounded in a half-moon by a natural barrier of dirt and stone and nothing to show for all the excavation but another mound of dirt that had long since been dipped into by neighbouring farms looking for some of the rich, rich soil to lay on their own lands. It was the perfect spot to run tests, providing additional shielding from whatever experiments were being attempted and making certain that no household or farm in any direction were made accidental victims.

Unfortunately, the Crater, however useful it was for experiments, only ensured that if they were herded in this direction, they would be pinned down.

Gunned down.

Arthur grimaced involuntarily as he remembered the many hours he spent late at night staring at the maps and satellite images, and trying to find a way out if they were ever in that situation. He'd come up with one, too, though not until after Merlin had sleepily knocked half of the papers from the bed, snaked a hand around his waist, and mumbled _love you, but get some sleep please_.

He felt a touch on his arm. He looked down to see Merlin's hand. He followed it all the way to Merlin's face and raised a questioning brow. Merlin raised both brows, tilted his head toward the French crew who were almost to physical blows -- one of them was hitting the monitor while another pulled at the cables, trying to trace them back to their connections.

Arthur knew what Merlin was asking. If Merlin helped them get through the tangle they'd gotten in, then, possibly, they could get the show on the road.

Arthur clenched his jaw. He was both in no hurry to see what would happen over the next few hours -- if anything -- and to get it over with.

He gave Merlin a curt nod. "I don't know how keen he'll be for you to help."

They both glanced at Ernest at the same time, and Merlin shrugged. "There are benefits to being the boss' boy toy. Stand here for a bit, hm? Put on a frowny face. No, with more glare."

Merlin looked at him expectantly, and Arthur wavered between laughing at how ridiculous Merlin was being and glowering at him for suggesting it in the first place.

"That'll do," Merlin said with a nod. He squeezed Arthur's arm again and went over to the table.

"Kay," Arthur said, and Kay, who was already moving to follow Merlin, made eye contact and nodded. He knew. Of course he did. The one and only order Arthur had given Kay that morning before they'd left the rented house was, _You stick to him like glue._

Arthur glanced heavenward, spent a moment studying the canopy -- the satellite view only ever returned a thick forest cover, and even aerial photographs didn't get much more out of close-up shots than a fuzzy view -- before staring off into the distance, working his jaw. He listened with half of an ear as Merlin -- in deliberately broken French that segued into _je veut, s'il-te-plaît, la poubelle? C'est delicieux_ that almost made Arthur crack, because only Merlin could charm his way into a group of recalcitrant scientists with something as dumbly innocent as an awkward, _I'd like, please, the garbage? It's very good_.

He turned away after a huff of breath and found Perceval watching him.

"I know," Arthur said, pre-emptively anticipating Perceval's _He's going to be fine_.

"I was going to ask if _you_ were all right."

"What do you think?" Arthur asked, more snappish than usual. Perceval shrugged; his gear creaked with the movement.

There was a long silence between them. Gwen and Lance worked their way out from where the device had been set-up, directional cannon aimed into the Crater, the technicians wrangling two laptops, several cables, and some sort of rectangular equipment that was fixed with a suitcase handle and following after. Another crew had been setting up a series of targets in the area of effect but was now moving away, heading toward the small storage buildings. Some additional and superfluous personnel wandered toward a bunker at the edge of the field; other people, who had finished their assignments, headed toward the gate.

Morgana had lulled the highly-excitable Director into a state of peaceful bliss; she exchanged a raised glance at Arthur as if to blame him for the whole experience. He mouthed at her, _You didn't have to come_ , and she scowled at him and answered with, _Of course I did._

"Gwaine's pissed at you, you know that?" Perceval said quietly. He stood next to Arthur, but his gaze was studying the horizon, trying to see if he could pick out intruders behind the fencing and foliage. "Putting him on overwatch but me in the thick of it."

"Tell Gwaine to shut it," Arthur said flatly, in no mood to discuss his plans. "He had plenty of time to raise objections --"

"I told him," Perceval said. "I told him a dozen times. We've been through this. We've been through worse, and we always got ourselves home. He's worried about me, just like you're worried about Merlin."

Arthur grit his teeth but said nothing.

"But it works the other way around, too," Perceval continued. "Gwaine's a panicky fuck when he doesn't have line of sight. It doesn't matter how safe he is, he'll find a way to get himself in trouble. You know that. I know that. I'm worried about _him_. I don't need to be worrying about him when I've got a job to do."

Arthur half-turned to study Perceval, sure that there was something meant for him in there.

"You think Merlin's not worried? That he's not as calm as he looks? He needs you to hold it together, Arthur. He needs you to believe that he can handle it."

Arthur ran a hand over his face to hide his expression, hoping that anyone watching would mark it off as merely impatient frustration. "That bad?" he asked.

"You're a couple of ticks shy of going nuclear," Perceval said, a quirk of a smirk touching his lips. "I mean, not that it's a bad thing. That bunch over there probably thinks you're going to fire them all for stalling, but us... We know what that look on your face means. Don't call it off, Arthur."

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur said, nodding, turning away. He wasn't going to give that order, not now. He couldn't afford to. Anyone watching would suspect that something was up and would try again when Arthur and his team weren't ready for it. It needed to be here and it needed to be now, when Arthur at least had some degree of control over the situation, however slim.

Before they'd left that morning, Arthur had given Merlin a script to read when he called Kilgarrah -- the bare bones of the plan that Arthur had sketched out for the team, what they expected to happen, what they would be doing about it. There had been a similar script for Arthur when he talked to Bayard on the phone under the pretext of not knowing _at all_ how little Olaf trusted him right now. The only difference between the two scripts was in the details, and depending on how the enemy arrived and moved on the field, Arthur would be able to tell which of them -- between Kilgarrah and Bayard -- were giving information to the enemy.

There was at least that small mercy. If everything went to hell, Arthur would know who to hunt down and kill.

Arthur took a steady breath, glanced sidelong at Perceval, and nodded. He forced himself to calm down, to dial back his level of aggravation to merely irritated, but it took some doing.

"Better," Perceval said.

"Anything on the line?" Arthur asked, but Perceval shook his head.

Perceval and Kay were wired in to the rest of the team, and, by default of some of Merlin's more mundane magic, were also wired into the security system, the security comm link, and into some sort of satellite feed that Merlin had apparently cobbled together when he was sixteen or seventeen and wanted to make sure that he had plenty of warning before his Mum came home to hide the evidence of whatever he was doing at the time.

Arthur planned on asking Hunith what those secret things had been the first chance he got. If he ever had a chance to meet Hunith, that was.

If anything moved that shouldn't move, if anything approached that shouldn't be coming near them, they would know it right away -- unless real magic was involved, casting some sort of obfuscate or illusion, in which case the only thing that would save them all were their trained reflexes.

Arthur checked his watch twice before the crew around the computers and the monitoring equipment cheered and clapped Merlin on the back; Merlin grinned like a kid and gave an _aw shucks_ shrug and topping it off with an _it was just luck, any of you could've done it_ wave of his hand. Even Ernest's haughty scowl had become something much like grudging approval.

Arthur exchanged glances with Perceval, traded a nod, and waited as Merlin shouldered his backpack and approached them with a skip in his step.

"So I fixed it," Merlin said with a grin.

Ernest was right behind him -- and Kay was right behind _Ernest_ , watching him warily -- but he'd regained his earlier composure. He eyed Arthur up and down with contempt; Arthur let him look because he didn't give a fuck on so many levels. By the time Ernest made eye contact and opened his mouth to speak, Arthur already had something to say.

"Doesn't say much for you, your team, or your project if any _kid_ off the street can come in, jiggle a few cables, and click on a few icons before fixing a problem," Arthur said sourly. Ernest opened his mouth and closed it; Merlin looked thunderous and indignant and declared --

"Oh, hey, you know I'm _amazing_ \--"

"Shut up, _Mer_ lin," Arthur snapped, barely giving Merlin a sidelong look, but he caught the flash of amusement in Merlin's eyes. He saw Ernest's feathers ruffle, settle, and ruffle again, like a rooster unsure whether he should ready for a fight or pretend he'd won, and continued, "Well? Are we ready to begin?"

"We are," Ernest said solemnly. He waved a brusque hand toward one of the bunkers, the one that would have the best side-on view of the testing attempts and added, "If you would simply make yourself comfortable, I shall finish a few key points of the programming."

He turned on his heel and walked away, but not without a venomous backward glance.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's arm and pulled him close -- close enough for Merlin to whisper, "The idiots have a WIFI connection to the disruptor. Encrypted access, but not hard to crack. I've set their system to send the telemetry to my computer at the flat, because, you know, if this goes to shite, it goes to shite, and that's a lot of data lost."

Arthur gave Merlin a subtle nod, but said, mostly for the benefit of those watching, "What have I said about your mouth?"

"You like it wrapped around your cock but not much else?" Merlin answered cheekily, and Arthur grumbled under his breath as he dragged Merlin to the bunker.

The bunker was steel-reinforced concrete, poured at least two metres deep on the front or viewing end and on the roof. The sides were equally thick, if not thicker; there were several supporting beams inside to take the weight of the roof. The ceiling itself was lined with a flexible titanium wire cage to catch any debris that might fall in the aftermath of an experiment; there were ancient signs of it having done that a time or two.

There was barely enough room for all of them in this bunker, and it was the largest one of all. Perceval took his position by the entrance while Kay stayed close to Arthur and Merlin; Lance and Gwen were at the far corner where Gwen would easily be dragged down and shielded. Leon was shooting an infuriating glare at the back of Morgana's head, because Morgana had twined her hand through the project director's arm and insisted that they take the best spot to watch the show -- smack dab in the middle of the bunker.

The viewing slot was barely twenty centimetres tall and ran nearly the full length of the bunker; there was at least a metre of poured clear epoxy that was more resistant to blast damage than bulletproof glass. The epoxy was distorted by age and time and dirt -- someone had forgotten to clean one side of it -- and cracks from flying debris from past experiments.

"Oh, I can barely see," Morgana said with a frown. "Will we see anything at all?"

"As I understand it, it doesn't produce much of a light show, I'm afraid," the Director said. "The video and the collected data will be transmitted here, however, and we'll be able to see the results --"

He waved to a bank of monitors. Morgana huffed in displeasure.

"Is this even necessary? As I understand it, EMPs aren't dangerous to people," Morgana asked, even though she damn well knew that they could be.

"Well, I, uh," the Director said, and he gave Morgana a nervous smile before relief coloured his features. Ernest chose that moment to walk in, a laptop in hand. He barged past the group, settled the laptop on the narrow table beneath the bank of monitors, and connected it to a docking station. "Ernest. You would know better than I would. Is there any reason why we have to be here?"

Ernest didn't look up. He worked on his laptop and called up several screens to mirror the computers that were in the shielded bay behind the disruptor. "Biological systems operate on faint electrical impulses. An electromagnetic pulse can interfere with those impulses. Ergo, if you are targeted by an EMP, there is a strong possibility that you will, how do they say it… drop dead."

Arthur snorted.

Ernest looked up then, flashing an insincere smile. "I do see this system as an improvement, however. Previous electromagnetic pulses were often a direct result of nuclear explosions. Fortunately, if you do drop dead as a result of this system, at least you will leave behind a gorgeous corpse, free of radiation burns."

"That's morbid, Dr. Howland," Gwen said. She didn't quite hide the horror in her voice.

"My apologies," Ernest said, though he didn't sound sorry at all. If anything, the smirk on his face was one of thorough amusement.

"What are the parameters of the test?" Arthur asked, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. His fingers circled around his cell phone, ready for it if it should vibrate in warning. At the moment, Ernest was an unknown factor: no background history, no history, period. All Arthur had to go on was that he was employed at Pendragon Consulting, which indicated, possibly, that he had at least been vetted by Uther's military connections. Arthur, apparently, didn't rate high on this list of knowledge, despite his attempts to get details from the Colonel. The only response he'd gotten was a curt, _of course he's been cleared_ and a questioning, _are you certain you want to do this?_

Ernest had been out of their line of sight for long enough that he might have passed on a message. Arthur knew he might be overdoing it with the paranoia, but at this point --

"Distance and range," Ernest said, his voice flat. His head was bowed and he typed a few commands in his laptop. "A specific target in a series of targets . Directed versus broadbeam . Three tests, Mr. Pendragon, if that suits you?"

Arthur wasn't fooled by the sweetness in Ernest's tone. When Ernest turned slightly to look at him, Arthur quirked a brow and sneered, "That's ambitious. Are you hoping for best out of three?"

"Stop goading him, and let him work," Morgana said, sounding annoyed, but Arthur knew that her nerves were coiled tight and that her irritation was directed at Ernest, because he wasn't _getting on with it_.

" _Merci, madame,_ " Ernest said, inclining his head in her direction. "It will not be longer. The system is running through diagnostics --"

"More delays," Arthur said with a scoff. He turned around and headed for the door, coming close enough to Perceval to raise a questioning brow. Perceval shook his head. Still no sign of anyone. 

"We do want this to go smoothly," the Director said.

"If you want my opinion, the only smooth here is Howland's con. How long has he been diverting project funds into his own pocket and how long have you been covering this up and buying into his excuses?" Arthur turned around and advanced on the Director, who sputtered.

"Uh. Uh. Uh."

"If you are quite finished accusing me of being a charlatan --"

"Ohh, that's a big word for you, isn't it?"

Ernest straightened and scoffed. He turned his back on Arthur, ignoring him, tuning him out, just like Arthur hoped he would do. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you have any electronic devices on your persons, as a precaution perhaps you should turn them off right now."

Morgana and Gwen, conditioned by years of department store announcement and PA system announcements and "This is your Captain speaking" announcements, automatically turned off their phones.

Leon and Lance and Kay and Perceval and Merlin, conditioned by years of obeying orders, didn't move. It probably helped that Merlin did what he could with the material that he had and the little time that they all had to ensure that, at the very least, they wouldn't lose communications.

Arthur's fingers tightened around the cell phone in his pocket.

"The onboard diagnostic has completed," Ernest said, not looking up from his laptop. He continued in a monotone. "Initiating first power source. Ramping up to 16 kilo Watts. Setting distance to two hundred and seventy-five metres and narrowing beam to an arc width of two degrees."

Merlin glanced at Arthur and raised a questioning brow. Arthur looked outside the door but saw no movement. 

"Madame," Ernest said, turning and clicking his heels in something that Arthur thought was a very telling tic -- a military about-face. He stared down at Ernest's feet, at the shoes that were blunt and dull, the rubber sole cut in a square around the toes and was at least a little wider than his feet by a centimetre. "If you please? Push this button to initiate."

"Any time?" Morgana asked, glancing at Leon briefly.

" _Quand vous voulez,_ " Ernest said.

"Here goes nothing," Morgana said with forced cheerfulness, and she pushed a button.

There was a loud roar of a power cell ramping up, a distant fizz-cackle like an electrical arc being grounded, and from Arthur's vantage point, there was a pale blue glow around the muzzle of the disruptor's cannon. It lasted only for a moment and could easily have been a trick of light.

"That's it?" Arthur said with a scoff.

"This is hardly Hollywood, with its exaggerated explosions. Real science does not employ falsified computer graphics," Ernest said, the venom dripping from his tone. He reached for the black phone mounted to the wall. "If you'll wait a moment, we will bring you the target and you can decide for yourself."

Ernest barked orders to whoever was on the other line, and as they watched, whoever had picked the short straw went for the device that the disruptor had supposedly... disrupted. It was brought to the bunker, and, with a haphazarded gesture in its general direction, Ernest invited scrutiny.

Gwen went over right away, putting on a pair of safety glasses and gloves. She used a meter of some sort from a shielded toolkit to take measurements before she cracked it open. Several minutes of silent poking and prodding passed before she announced, "It's completely dead. The circuits are fried."

Arthur snorted.

Ernest turned away and began to set up for the next test. "Switching to secondary power source. Running diagnostics."

There was a long pause and a progress bar inching its way across the screen. Gwen asked, "The data that I reviewed indicated that you had issues with the power supplies burning out. Wouldn't a reflective transformer resolve the issue? If the power can be generated on-demand --"

"You are a lovely young woman, Dr. Dulac, but, please, don't strain yourself. Leave the thinking to the experts," Ernest said.

Lance caught Gwen from launching herself at Ernest, her hands out to throttle him.

Morgana's eyes narrowed and she fixed the Director with a frosty glare. "I see that _some people_ haven't compiled the required Sexual Harassment and Discrimination module that is required of all our staff."

"Yes, perhaps we should hold back funding on those grounds alone, rather than on the merits of a prototype that has cost the company several million pounds in research funds and thus far, has proven that it can fry a toaster," Arthur said with a snort. "I'm sure the different branches of our military will be tripping over themselves to get their own deluxe model. They'll only need an aircraft carrier or two to carry all the power modules --"

"We are developing an alternative power source," Ernest snapped, and turned back to the testing.

The second test passed much like the first, except the focused beam was "shot" through a series of electronic devices set in a series, one behind the other, and from the controls, it was set to damage only the third.

"Make it the second," Arthur said.

"The second is hardly a challenge," Ernest deflected easily. "I remind you that the planned target is five hundred metres away -- nearly double the distance of the first test."

"Ambitious," Morgana said flatly. She was still unimpressed with Ernest's attitude and it showed. Arthur almost shivered.

No one wanted to push the button this time, and Ernest wasn't offering, anyway. He barked orders in the phone afterward, and several people ran out to fetch them and bring them in. Gwen inspected each one in turn, declared the third one dead but the others live -- albeit at various levels of functionality.

Arthur scoffed. "Easy enough to put a system out in the field that never worked in the first place, or to swap it out for one before they get brought in. Thus far, _Doctor_ , I am neither impressed nor inclined toward seeing that the project continues."

The line of Ernest's shoulders stiffened, straightened, and howled out in aggrieved insult, because the clacking on the laptop keyboard ceased, and the man slowly turned around. When he faced Arthur, there was no humour in his expression -- if anything, his face had gone into a cultivated slackness, devoid of emotion. His eyes were like stone.

"Then, perhaps, _monsieur_ should have thought of that and brought devices of his own to be tested," Ernest said. Arthur had to give him credit; the frost in his tone, while unremarkable when compared to the blizzard that Morgana could enact, was palpable.

Arthur let a slow, cruel smile stretch on his lips, using it to hide how sick he felt. He'd been waiting for this. He'd been dreading this. "An excellent idea. In fact, I have thought of it. Merlin."

Merlin turned around with a startled squawk that was entirely theatrical, because Arthur knew that Merlin had been listening and had known that it was coming. "Um. Um. What?"

"You have your laptop on you?" Arthur asked.

"Yea -- what! No. _No_! I, um. I left it in the car," Merlin stammered.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said warningly, ignoring the way his stomach roiled and his guts twisted. He turned and nodded at Kay. "Go with him."

Kay moved to Merlin's elbow. He didn't touch Merlin; that was Arthur's job. Arthur grabbed Merlin, ignoring his protests, his heart sinking as he listened to Merlin's blather --

"-- bad idea, Arthur. Don't you know how long it took me to get all the programs in one place? Plus there's that new one you asked me to do, I finished it last night, but haven't had the time to update the main version with the changes you wanted me to make --"

"You'll fix them," Arthur snapped, stopping in the doorway. His hand curled around Merlin's biceps gently, tenderly, unwilling to let him go. He cleared his throat with difficulty and said, "Just do it."

Merlin muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes. He looked at Arthur with shuttered eyes and lips tense with all the things that he wanted to say. He held his breath in his chest until there were every indication that he was about to turn blue, and when he released it in a huff, he said, "Fine. But you owe me a new laptop. And a good shagging to make up for it."

And then he was gone, out the door, Kay following after him.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

****

Merlin stared at his own feet for the walk across the clearing, clutching the straps of his backpack with a white-knuckled grip. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, to look longingly at the bunker where Arthur was, to reveal any hint of panic that _this might be it_. It was harder than he'd ever thought possible to act as if everything was fine.

Maybe everything was fine. Maybe Arthur's predictions and forecasts were wrong and his tactical countermeasures were unnecessary. Maybe Morgana's visions -- such as they were, fragmented slivers of random images that didn't fit, not even cobbled together -- were misinterpreted.

But the buzzing at the back of Merlin's skull contradicted all the _maybes_.

Kay nudged him with his elbow as they walked, a subtle, fleeting glance of contact that no one would think twice about, because the ground was rocky and uneven and it was easy to slip too close and crash into someone else. Merlin didn't look up, but he heard it when Kay said, "Are you all right?"

Merlin exhaled. "I'll be."

He cut himself off when he saw some of the workers approach them. One of them had a handheld radio held in the air; there was a crackle on the other end and an indiscernible voice on the other end giving orders. If not for the distance and the poor reception -- Merlin automatically calculated how it could be improved and knew he was only distracting himself from the inevitable -- they could probably make out who they were talking to. Merlin guessed that it was Ernest.

This time, Merlin glanced at Kay when the men stopped and said, " _Nous avons encore une autre demonstration. Le terrain n'est pas sauf. Retournez au bunker --_ "

_There's one more test and the area isn't safe yet. Return to the bunker --_

"Um. Um," Merlin said. He leaned forward and asked in halting French, " _Parlez... ah, parlez-vous anglais?_ "

The three men exchanged glances with each other and answered with a headshake and, " _Pas bien_ ," which, if the amused smirks on their faces was any indication, was a blatant, outright lie.

"Right. Okay. Um." Merlin looked at Kay again. "How's your French?"

Kay raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Okay. Um. _Nous... ah. Nous cherche pour la toilette. Nous avons... Nous avons besoin d'une explosion pamplemousse_ ," Merlin said, trying very hard to keep a straight face. He knew Kay could understand French and he had no idea how Kay managed to keep from laughing out loud. The three men in front of them were doing just that. "What did I say?"

"I don't know, mate," Kay said, his lips quirking in amusement.

The technicians were clapping each other on the back; one of them wiped a tear from his eye. They pointed at Merlin and repeated some of the key words -- _toilette_ and _explosion_ and _pamplemousse_ , and Merlin bit his lower lip.

Maybe telling them that they were looking for the loo and had a pressing need to have a grapefruit explode was pushing the limits of believability in his language skills, but the men sure seemed plenty fooled to Merlin. The radio crackled again, and from this close, Merlin could confirm that, yes, it was Ernest snapping at them. The men quickly sobered, and the one in the lead stepped aside, waving a hand in a sweeping, inviting motion toward the testing field.

Merlin looked at Kay with a big smile that he didn't feel. "I guess I said the right thing!"

It was only as they were walking away that they overheard the men say, " _Ils sont seuls, chef. Nous évacuons le terrain._ "

Kay tensed besides Merlin; Merlin shrugged off his backpack and went on one knee under the pretext of rummaging through the contents to look for his laptop. He wasn't sure who the men were talking to now -- it might still be Ernest, but the report was telling.

_They're alone, sir. We're evacuating the field._

"Put your earwig in," Kay said quietly.

Merlin spent just enough time hunched over his bag, one hand riffling through the contents, to do exactly that. He heard, "-- did you check the weather report? I didn't check the weather report. For fuck's sake did _anyone_ bother to look at the --"

Before Gwaine's strained voice cut everyone else off with a stiff, but still smooth, "Clear skies all the way. This ain't nothing natural, boys. This is my sniper ambush nightmare all over again --"

"I've got heli. I've got heli. Coming in from NNE --"

"Copy that --"

"-- dust cloud from the South, getting powder WSW --"

Merlin's hand went tight around the handle of his gun, buried deep in his bag.

"Merlin," Kay said quietly. "Keep going. I've got your back. We all do. Don't forget it."

Merlin cleared his throat and took several deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing. He wrapped the square of magic-masking silk around the gun again and pulled out his laptop, standing and turning around with as clueless a look as he could manage. "I need a box -- uh, _je veux... une..._ box. A box?"

But the men continued to retreat, waving a hand in the air at Merlin as they left.

Merlin turned around, trying for uncertain and confused. He ran a hand through his hair, stared down at his bag, and twirled around in a circle, searching the field. There were several devices in place for the next test, but there were a few toppled-over stands and crates littering the far end of the Crater, almost in invitation. He pointed toward them and said to Kay, "You think that's where they want me to go?"

The area was in the shadow of the Crater, in the squared-out angled Vee of a heavy rock and a hard place, partially protected but pinched-in, as clear an ambush as if it someone had hung a billboard overhead with a pulsing neon arrow pointing down.

"That's exactly where they want us to go," Kay said quietly. 

"All right," Merlin said, tucking his laptop under his arm and shouldering his backpack. "Let's do this."

 

* * *

 

A higher vantage point. That was what Gwaine wanted. That was what Gwaine _needed_.

He could see the dark storm clouds overhead even through the fake canopy. The clouds weren't rolling in the way normal clouds rolled in, fuelled by wind and magnetic fields and humidity levels at altitude and a butterfly in the tropics. The clouds were _forming_ right in front of his eyes, each swell darker than the last, bursting out and roiling like a pit of snakes in a feeding frenzy.

His heart pounded in his ears. His finger twitched over the trigger.

A cloud wasn't a target. A cloud wasn't a target, he repeated to himself, like a mantra, and forced his eyes down to the field. If he shot at the target, he would be giving himself away.

He couldn't give himself away. The team was depending on him, on Geraint, on Galahad.

He couldn't see through the thick forest around them, he couldn't see through the mound, and he couldn't see through walls, but, _fuck_ , he sure as shite wished he could instead of having to rely on the satellite telemetry that Lamorak was recounting. There was a time delay to any image, a download hiccup that could be easily interrupted, or cause a false target -- Gwaine had argued against this approach, because he wanted live eyes on the area, but Arthur had said he wanted his team together, not scattered around the perimeter where they would be unable to get to the action in time.

It didn't matter where they were. They would still be too far away. Gwaine grit his teeth, forcing himself to relax with difficulty. He tracked Merlin's movement across the Crater, and he wanted to scream, _no, no, you bloody idiot, don't go there, that's a fucking trap_.

He kept silent, ignoring the background radio chatter, and shifted ever so slightly, tracing the rise of the small hill and the periphery for movement.

He couldn't see anything. He continued to sweep, knowing that Geraint and Galahad were doing the same thing from their vantage point.

"Movement from the west." There was a long pause, and, "Three convoys at halt half a click from overwatch position one. Count twenty-repeat-twenty -- semi-automatics and automatics. Approaching double-time. ETA five, six minutes."

"Confirm visual," Geraint said.

"Hold position," Gwaine said. "Let them come."

"Engaging stealth mode," Galahad said with a nervous titter.

No one answered him. No one even made fun of the nerves in his voice. They might all be seasoned veterans, but nerves still got to them out in the field. It was worse when they knew that one of their own was out in the field.

At the moment, Gwaine knew that Perceval and Arthur and Leon and the girls were safe in the bunker. But Kay and Merlin were out there, alone.

Overhead, the clouds had swollen like a bruise, angry and nasty, bubbling like a pot of witch's brew. Gwaine swallowed hard, knowing that he wasn't far from the truth.

"Six-by-six from the south. Movement from NNE has ceased. Telemetry shows no further movement -- wait. Fuck. Telemetry lost. Do you copy? Telemetry lost --"

The communication cracked, sputtered, and fizzed out, just like it did when Gwaine had last seen this fucking storm cloud. The only upside was that Merlin's radio setup kicked in a second later.

"Switching to E channel. Switching to E. Call in all visuals --"

"West twenty split into five by fours. Cutting through fencing now. ETA two minutes. Going radio-silent now," Geraint said.

"Six-by-six south teams fanning out. Through fence, have taken control of guard gate. Three teams moving east to storage field," Bohrs said.

"NNE dust cloud settled, not seeing any movement," Owain said. "Is it just me, or is it going to rain?"

Gwaine felt the bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, down his nose. He didn't move to wipe it away. He scanned the field for movement. Grass. More grass. A branch. Something shiny --

Gwaine pulled his scope back, and held his breath. He counted heartbeats until he was in the hundreds, but the _something shiny_ didn't flash again. Except for the enemy who were coming onto their position, Gwaine would have called it in.

 

* * *

 

Arthur paced the bunker -- which, by itself, was no mean feat considering that the area wasn't very large and it was already filled with people. When Perceval signaled him with a gesture half-full of urgency, Arthur used the cover of movement to put the earwig in place, trading a grim look with Leon and Lance as the reports came in.

He'd been right. He wished he'd been wrong. But the strategy that he figured that the NWO would employ -- they wouldn't risk missing the opportunity to take the prototype and to get Merlin in the same go -- it had to happen now. This was their one and only chance. The prototype would otherwise languish by itself in the security of Pendragon's vaults, or lost somewhere in one of the many scattered warehouses in Europe and they would have no chance of getting to it, never mind retrieving it. And Merlin --

Merlin.

Arthur went to the front of the bunker. He stood next to Ernest and stared out of the narrow window. He crossed his arms over his chest and resisted the urge to bark orders to his men.

Instead, he groused, "What's taking him so long."

"Hm," Ernest said. He was doing something with the laptop. He picked up the black phone and pressed it to his ear, cradling it against his shoulder. He dialled an extension. He continued to type.

Arthur listened to the visual updates on the advancing enemy coming at them from three sides and scratched the back of his head to mask his anxiety. He exchanged another look with Leon and checked Lance. They were listening, too, and were coiled as tight as snakes ready to strike, because they were more than ready to grab Morgana and Gwen and to take them away from there.

Morgana and Gwen were, for the moment, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

" _Vous êtes prêts? Bon. Comptez de maintenant. Trente. Veingt-neuf --_ " Ernest hung up the phone and hit a few keys on the laptop.

Alarmed, Arthur glanced down at the monitor. A countdown bar popped up; he saw it in time for Ernest to minimize it, as if it weren't there. "Wait. What was that? What are you doing?"

He elbowed Ernest out of his way; Ernest, surprisingly wiry beneath the loose shirt he wore, shoved Arthur back. Perceval stepped between them, tall enough and broad enough to dwarf Ernest completely, wrapping his arms around the other man and hefting him out of the way.

Arthur pulled up the minimized countdown bar. It took him less than a fraction of a second to realize what it was. It wasn't a systems check. It wasn't a switch to the last battery pack in the device. It wasn't a power transfer. It was a firing sequence countdown. "Shite. Shite!"

He looked for a cancel button, a stop button, _anything_. There was one, but it was greyed out. He whirled around.

"How do you stop this?"

Gwen sidled up beside him; he could hear her tapping on the keys. 

"It is in progress," Ernest said smugly. "You cannot stop it now."

"It's encrypted," Gwen said. "He's got it password protected --"

And the one person they needed to shut it down was out in the field, right in the line of fire.

"Oh no," Gwen breathed. "It's going to hit the entire field."

Arthur glanced at the countdown bar and touched his earpiece. He stared helplessly at the two distant figures at the end of the Crater. "Everyone _get down now_. The device is firing broadband. Repeat, the device is firing --"

 

* * *

 

" _\-- the device is firing broadband. Get to shelter if you can --_ "

Merlin could _taste_ Arthur's fear. He whirled around and saw Kay's eyes go wide before taking a long look around.

That was one thing that none of them had thought would happen -- that the fuckers would turn the device on _people_ , and, more importantly, on Merlin. They needed Merlin, didn't they? Unless -- Unless Ernest wasn't NWO, and had been tasked with making certain that the NWO didn't get him?

It made no sense, absolutely none whatsoever, and Merlin was snapped out of his frozen _what the fuck_ by Kay's furious " _What the fuck!_ ", and they both dove for cover.

There wasn't anything that could provide them some buffer against the EMP burst except to hope that broadband didn't include anything below knee-height.

They weren't so lucky.

Merlin saw the decoy laptop -- where it had fallen nearby, the screen warped from impact with the ground -- flicker and flicker and finally go dead. He heard the radio chatter from the earwig crackle and sputter into radio noise, the sh-sh-sh equivalent of television snow. He _felt_ \--

He _screamed_

 

* * *

 

Arthur watched Merlin and Kay drop to the ground just as the countdown bar reached zero. His chest burned from holding his breath. He counted down in his head, and when he ran out of numbers, he restarted the count, not wanting to blink and miss the signal that they were all right.

Neither one of them moved.

A pain tore through him, starting deep inside his guts and tearing out of the tattoo. He staggered back as if punched, catching himself only because he knew --

 _Merlin_.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered hoarsely, taking a step back. Then another. He was torn between being unable to look away, not wanting to miss the moment when Merlin got to his feet, and with wanting to race out into the open field, because he knew, deep down, that Merlin was _not_ okay.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine had heard the command to get down, to get to safety. There was no way that either he or the G's could move without compromising their location, not when the enemy was _right the fuck under them_. The only thing they could do was wait and see what effect the broadband would have on them, on _anyone_. If the device had gone off like it should have, the so-called broadband would have been limited to the testing field only.

The first hint that someone wasn't following the testing protocol was the comms squeaking like a squealing pig in its last living throes before the tenuous connection snapped like a parachute line and left them tumbling down. The comms -- Merlin's Box -- was _outside_ of the Crater.

That meant that they weren't fucked -- the enemy coming at them from all sides were fucked too, unless they were smart the way that Merlin was smart and had given them all earwigs packed in small jewellery boxes and shielded against the EMP. There was a second Box, too, similarly protected and just waiting to be turned on.

Gwaine itched to trade one earwig for the next, wanting to know what was going on, but he couldn't move. The enemy was right below him, and they had stopped dead, signalling amongst themselves.

Gwaine knew those signs. They were SAS signs. Customized for the team using it, but the men below them -- they were trained SAS. Someone had sent them here, and they wouldn't know that Arthur and Perceval and Lance and Leon and Kay and Merlin --

_Oh, God, Merlin. Get up. Get up --_

\-- were on their side.

After a moment, the men below advanced onward, spreading out, heading towards the bunkers.

Gwaine was aware of these fine details only as an afterthought, because he couldn't take his eye from the scope, where it was fixed on Merlin.

He saw Merlin's chest rise and fall. 

_Thank fuck._ Gwaine wanted to cheer in relief, but he couldn't. Not until he saw Merlin get up.

_Come on, mate. Get up. Get up --_

 

* * *

 

It took Arthur a moment to realize that he was listening to radio silence, that no one was calling in, that they were operating blind, but that was secondary to the fact that Merlin was down. He wasn't moving.

Someone shifted out in the field. It wasn't Merlin.

Kay scrambled over to Merlin's side, coming to a sliding crouch next to him.

"Merlin's down," Arthur said unnecessarily, and it froze him how removed his voice was to his own ears. "Lance --"

Lance moved toward the doorway with a glance at Leon, who nodded, and Arthur knew that somewhere in the silent communication there was a request to watch over Gwen. Gwen was at the laptop, tapping at a few keys, but she was shaking her head and whispering to herself, "It's too late anyway. Can't reverse an EMP --"

Ernest took advantage of their stunned silence, their scattered, unguarded positions, to wrench free of Perceval's grasp -- and how that was possible, Arthur didn't know. A flash of surprise flickered on Perceval's expression, and it was clear that Perceval didn't know, either -- and lunge away. Arthur reflexively went for his gun, and it was drawn, the safety off and trained on Ernest who suddenly, _inexplicably_ had Gwen in his grasp, an arm over her chest.

A gun to her head.

"Back off," Ernest snarled.

Leon yanked Morgana out of the way, shoving her behind him. The director, confused, advanced with placating hands out to calm an enraged animal. 

"Ernest. Ernest, what are you doing? Put that down --"

Ernest turned the gun on the Director and fired. Before any of them could take advantage of the opportunity, Ernest returned the gun to Gwen's head.

Lance was frozen in the doorway, his handgun raised, steady, steady. There was a glisten in his gaze that was halfway between a murderous _let go of my wife_ and a terrified _don't hurt her_. Leon had one arm behind him in the vain hopes of keeping Morgana behind him; his gun was also in hand, but it was pointed to the ground since he could equally hit Gwen or Arthur from his position. 

"Back off," Ernest said again. "If you do not want this pretty little thing shot, you will get out of my way."

He made a slight gesture with his hand, motioning for Perceval to stand aside and for Lance to move.

Perceval glanced at Arthur. 

"You don't want yourself shot, you'll let her go right now," Arthur said calmly.

Ernest showed teeth in a predator's smile. "You fail to see that --"

"No, you fail," Arthur said. "You just fail. You want to get out of here? You should've just walked out. But now you're holding someone we give a shite about, and we're not letting you go. Can't let that happen."

Ernest's predatory smile faded into something more like a cornered cat. He didn't move, but his eyes darted around the room.

Arthur couldn't spare a glance for Gwen. He didn't want to see her terror. He didn't want to lose any opportunity, however slight, to gain the upper hand. 

Ernest was breathing slowly, steadily. This wasn't an inexperienced man. This wasn't an act enacted on the spur of the moment. He hadn't been coerced into rigging the test to kill all electronics not just in the targeted range, but in its working range. He was in on this all along.

But "this" was subjective, because Arthur didn't know who Ernest was working for.

"What's your real name, _Ernest_?" Arthur asked.

"Put your guns down and perhaps I will tell you," Ernest sneered.

"You've been under for a long time, haven't you? For years and years," Arthur said. He was reasoning out loud, giving voice to the connections he was making in his head, throwing out options to see which one was most correct.

The slightest raise of Ernest's chin was as much of a _yes_ that Arthur was going to get.

A membership in whatever fraction could either mean the NWO, who had been recruiting for decades. It could equally mean that he was a member of Her Majesty's Secret Service, because someone had to get the falsified papers for him -- birth certificate, citizenship card, passport. It couldn't mean the Directory, because what would the Directory want with a crooked, expatriated scientist who specialized in electromagnetic pulses?

The NWO. MI-5 or MI-6. Arthur clenched his jaw and decided, _both_ , because if Morgause Gorlois could get a position in Interpol, then it wasn't much of a stretch for there to be another double agent playing all the fields he could while reporting back to his superiors.

Arthur guessed. "Morgause didn't plan this well, did she?"

Ernest's dark gaze flicked in his direction. Arthur grimaced inwardly and pressed on.

"Left you here alone. If she'd been smarter, she wouldn't have stuck you in a bunker with us. Or maybe that was her plan all along, because she doesn't need you now, does she? She's got the prototype, and that's what she really cares about. The disruptor, and --" Arthur's eyes narrowed as Ernest's mouth tightened in a thin line. "And Merlin."

Ernest swallowed.

"Merlin, because he can crack the encryption code on your files. Fix your wonky programming," Arthur said, tilting his head slightly. He raised his gun incrementally, taking his time, watching as Ernest realized exactly what Arthur was about to say next. "You're expendable."

" _Non!_ " Ernest shouted, the tension in his body tightrope-taut. He shoved Gwen in front of him, and Gwen -- dear, sweet Gwen, surprised them all.

She elbowed Ernest with a blow hard enough to knock the breath out of him, to draw a gurgle of surprise. There was a struggle of octopus arms as Ernest struggled to get control of Gwen again, as Gwen fought him off --

Arthur waited for a clear shot -- the clearest shot he could get -- and knew that the others were doing the same --

Gwen stopped struggling and _let herself fall to the ground_ \--

And it was as clear a shot as any of them were going to get, except --

Before Arthur could even pull the trigger, Ernest's body jerked -- once, twice, and collapsed.

Arthur shot a quick look around the room to ensure that the guns were secured, that he could move without crossing lines of fire, and saw that it was _Morgana_ who had fired first, one of Leon's guns in both of her small hands, propped and steady on his shoulder.

Lance rushed to Gwen's side, wrapping his arm underneath her; he helped her to her feet and forcibly dragged her away to a corner, using his body to shield her. "I'm all right. I'm _fine_ ," Gwen insisted, but Lance checked on her all the same.

Perceval took two steps closer, kicked the gun away from Ernest's reach, and rolled him over.

There were two bullets in Ernest's forehead. One of them was right between his eyes.

Morgana made a sound that was a cross with smug self-satisfaction and the sick realization that she had just shot at a human being. 

Leon's head was tilted away from the gun. He reached up slowly, enfolding the barrel of the gun with his hand, and took the weapon away from Morgana. He secured it, and promptly popped out the EMP-fried earwig and stuck a finger in. "Ow."

That was enough to distract Morgana from staring at the body, for Lance to jerk his head up and around, finally reassured that Gwen _really was all right_ and for Arthur to bite back his angry _we could've interrogated him_.

"Switch comms," Arthur said. He was already replacing the earwig when he turned to look out of the bunker's window, searching for Merlin.

 

* * *

 

"Come on, Merlin. Come on," Kay whispered. He checked vitals -- everyone on the team had gone through an advanced first aid module when they'd first signed up to SAS, and it was a module that was constantly expanding thanks to Lance's instructions and the never-ending list of injuries that Excalibur seemed to get more from training than from actual missions -- and exhaled in relief.

Weak, thready heartbeat, but it was getting stronger, the rhythm steadier. It was still too fast for Kay's liking, and Merlin's breathing was raspy and hoarse, as if a tank were parked on his chest -- a bad combination.

Kay knew the after-effects and symptoms of non-nuclear, non-radiation source EMP blast exposure -- Lance had drilled it into them three times that morning alone -- and whatever _this_ was that Merlin was suffering, it didn't fit any known criteria.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open and promptly shut. 

"Come on, Merlin. Come on," Kay said, patting his cheek lightly. He scanned the area, his fingers tingling for his gun.

The open field was strangely silent -- so silent that he couldn't even hear distant traffic sounds. He wondered just how far the blast had gone, but as far as he could tell, it was as quiet as the crypt.

Except for the faint, rustling sound of people coming toward them.

Kay was blind, and he didn't like it. The radio was down --

"Fuck. The radio --" Kay fumbled, switching his gun from one hand to the other while keeping Merlin balanced in his lap, fishing through his pockets until he found the small box with the protected earwig, and he hoped to God -- to all of Kathy's Gods and Merlin's Gods and whoever else was listening -- that it was working.

"-- incoming. Do you hear?" There was a faint crackle. " _INCOMING_ \--"

Hear? Hear what?

Kay wrenched his head around, and _fuck this storm_ , but he couldn't see a damn thing with the clouds swirling overhead or the goddamned camouflage canopy --

And then he saw it, coming from the west, a tiny pinprick of glowing orange light that grew in size and intensity not just because it was coming closer, but because the air was fuelling the flames --

"Oh, _fuck me_."

 

* * *

 

 _Come on. Come on,_ Gwaine prayed.

Through the scope, he saw Kay replace his earwig, but there was still no movement from Merlin.

_Come on, Merlin. Man up, you're fine --_

The enemy -- he had to think of his brother SAS as the enemy, because they sure as hell weren't going to treat him to a beer at the nearest pub if they happened to trip on Gwaine right now -- had advanced and were now no longer right beneath them. The soldiers were approaching the bunkers in a fanfold, staggered pattern and were going right for Arthur and Perceval and --

Gwaine side-eyed the bunker. Even through the foliage, even without a scope, he could tell that the boys hadn't left when they should have.

A tight feeling twisted in his gut, but he ignored the flare of worry -- for the girls, for his teammates, _especially_ for Perceval and Arthur -- and reached down with one slow, deliberate hand to palm the second earwig. He made short work of the trade, and left the old one in the crook of a branch.

"-- have eyes on hostiles. Repeat, have eyes on hostiles approaching from the south --" That was Owain, thank _fuck_ , which meant that their part of the mission was still a go. Without Owain, they probably wouldn't get far.

"-- west group approaching friendly bunker from their six. Hello, the bunker, get your arses out --" from Geraint, his voice a low, low hush.

"I have incoming. I repeat, I have incoming. High-velocity unidentified missile approaching from coordinates --" Gwaine glanced over the scope and immediately spotted the tiny pinprick of light through the camouflage, glowing bright in the storm-sky like a guiding light. "Do you hear?"

There was a crackle over the radio, and an audible, startled outburst from Galahad nearby before he heard someone ask, "The _fuck_ was that?"

 

* * *

 

Perceval had barricaded the bunker door the instant they heard Geraint's _Hello, the bunker_ , while Lance guided Gwen to the most secure corner of the building. Leon gave Morgana a stern glare and a gesture that he would probably hear about later, when it was all over and everyone was all right and Morgana realized that Leon had been _bossing her around_ and joined Arthur at the front of the bunker just as they heard Pellinor's "We have incoming--"

Arthur saw the growing pinprick of light almost at once, his eyes darting down to the Crater where Kay and Merlin were exposed. There hadn't been any movement, it didn't look as if either one of them planned on moving, and _for fuck's sake why weren't they moving_. Arthur wavered in place, knowing that there was no way that he would be able to get to them before the missile landed, and even if he could, there would be little that he could do.

_Goddamn it, Merlin --_

Merlin could protect himself. He could protect Kay. He could cast a shield like the one he had in Paris, the one that stopped all the bullets. And he could do it _if only he were conscious_. Kay could drag Merlin away, could get him out of the line of fire -- but not if he wasn't aware of the missile coming their way, and never if Merlin was too injured to be moved.

Arthur closed his eyes at the thought of Merlin too injured to be moved, remembering the sharp pain he'd felt, and pressed a hand to his side as if to feel for blood. Except the surface didn't hurt, it didn't sting -- all there was to it was a strange hollow deep down, somewhere past skin and blood and bone.

He bit off a curse and pressed a hand against his ear. "Coordinates -- I want --"

He was overruled by Gareth asking, "The _fuck_ was that?" in a tone laced with fear and edge, and Arthur looked around the bunker at shared expressions of _don't have a clue what he's talking about_. The missile was closer, and Arthur barked, "Get down."

Gwen and Morgana slumped down on the concrete floor, grasping each other's hands; Lance and Leon crouched down nearby, as if intent on throwing themselves on top of their other halves to protect them from the blast. It did nothing but gnaw at Arthur, this _want_ to be out with Merlin, to guard him, to keep him safe --

He didn't crouch down. Not right away. He wanted to see it for himself, to know that the missile would miss Merlin and Kay.

 

* * *

 

Kay could already tell from his vantage point that the missile would come close -- too uncomfortably close. He rearranged Merlin's body flat on the ground, dragged Merlin's backpack close to Merlin's head to use as a bit of shielding -- there was no time to dig a body-length trench, to drag him to shelter, to toss him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and to _get the fuck out_.

Instead, Kay covered Merlin's body with his own and braced for impact.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine only half-listened to the radio chatter. He perked up when he heard confirmation from Perceval that everyone in the bunker was all right, that they had a bit of a hiccup, that they were barricaded in. He nodded -- mostly to himself -- at Arthur's order to hold until the men heading toward the bunkers assaulted. He never took his eyes from Merlin and Kay.

 _Good,_ he thought when he saw Kay cover Merlin's body. If Kay was even bothering with that, well, it was only more confirmation that Merlin was alive.

Through the scope, Gwaine saw Merlin's hand twitch.

 

* * *

 

The missile was coming from an arced, near-parabolic angle, and it abruptly shifted to straight, directed flight once it cleared the worst of the forest around them. It sheared through the camouflage canopy, and for a brief instant there was a chance that anyone who had satellites pointed on their location would know what was going on and mobilize their personnel.

Except Arthur remembered the last time that any member of his team had been under assault by supernatural forces powerful enough to blanket the sky in a storm. He'd been on the other side, staring grimly at the satellite images, biting back his complaints about _all this technology and none of it strong enough to pierce goddamn cloud cover_ only because Colonel Mandrake had been muttering the same thing, and far more eloquently than anything Arthur would have managed.

The missile was over twice the size of a lorry wheel, round on one angle, oblong on the other, with a comet's tail trailing behind it. It was coming at a a low angle, but not so low that it was aimed at Merlin and Kay, though it came close.

Really close.

 _Merlin,_ Arthur thought, closing his eyes as he crouched and braced against the bunker wall.

 

* * *

 

A whoosh of sucking vacuum, like a truck roaring past on the highway at high velocity, sucked Kay's body and nearly pulled him from Merlin. The heat was blistering and blazing and he grit his teeth and hoped that he hadn't just been set on fire.

 

* * *

 

"-- brace --" Gwaine heard, and that advice was fine and dandy for the wankers who were already on solid ground, rather than wedged against the most solid tree branch that he could find -- that he and Galahad and Geraint could find. He didn't react until he was sure that the missile missed Merlin and Kay, and it was then and only then that he reached down to his belt, released a carabiner, and snapped it to the tree.

He shut his eyes and averted his head.

Nothing happened.

Gwaine cracked an eye open.

The missile impacted on the Crater's outer edge, destroying the tent and tables of equipment that had been remotely set up to monitor the disruptor. Rather than the shockwave of contact -- it appeared to have no physical mass -- the missile rolled and unfurled until something like tentacles reached and lashed out. 

It was almost a dud. Except Gwaine wasn't holding his breath. He thought that the core of the missile brightened --

 

* * *

 

Arthur rose from his crouch cautiously, holding out a hand to keep everyone else down, _especially_ Morgana, who seemed to have no sense of self-preservation right now, no matter what Leon did to keep her in the corner. He peered out of the window, seeing for himself what Pellinor was describing over the radio.

Bristling, fiery tentacles lashed out in two directions -- two lateral directions, one on either side of it, whipping at the ground repeatedly. The rocky, grainy ground sparked like flint on a stone, catching fire.

The centre of the missile was almost a white-hot colour, pulsing with a stuttering rhythm, a heartbeat outside of a heart. Arthur squinted against the light, raising his arm to shield his eyes, realizing almost too late that the flickers inside the missile were increasing in frequency, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing --

" _BOMB_ \--" he shouted, throwing himself flat on the ground, one arm behind his head to protect it.

Thunder boomed as if it weren't high in the sky, but right beside him. Lightning flashed not in a beautiful, jagged arc toward the earth, but in a flash of white light that seared even through his closed eyes and around the arm shielding him.

An instant later, he had the feeling of being sucked into a roaring vortex gathering energy for one more blast, and he dug the fingernails of his free hand into the cement floor to stop himself from sliding toward the monstrous, imaginary maw behind him. Grains of dirt embedded into his nails, and he wasn't sure if he really was being sucked in until his feet hit the bunker wall behind him.

A momentary hush of breath was the only respite before the earth-shattering _ka-chunk!_ high-velocity shockwave cracked against the bunker.

The bunker creaked, groaned, crumbled.

 

* * *

 

The tree branch splintered under Gwaine like dry balsam wood and gave way.

The _bloody tree_ splintered under him like dry balsam wood and gave way.

The tree branch he was hooked to carried him to the ground one way, while the tree went the other.

Then the wind _fuck me that's no wind_ tossed him like he was a rag doll, releasing him on top of a tangle of felled branches and leaves.

 

* * *

 

A heavy hush filled the testing ground.

 

* * *

 

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, toppled backward, and caught himself against the narrow table right under the bunker window. The table, already dislodged, broke under his weight, but the wall right behind it steadied him.

He shook his head. He blinked several times. The solid grey bunker walls pulsated with soft pinks and purples and blues. It took him a second to realize that the grey walls were still grey, but that they'd been compromised, and that the flashing colours were the red alarm warning lights flashing like the lights on top of a copper's car.

The bunker had taken a big hit, but it was still sound -- for now. There were cracks all along the side walls, but the front wall, the one facing the Crater, had been blown inward, and was in a wide concave. The rear wall was intact and looked to be taking the full weight of the thick roof over them.

A quick check confirmed that Morgana and Gwen were fine, if shaken; they'd been in the corner furthest from the impacted wall and cushioned by both their nanotechnology body armour -- which was supposed to be able to absorb blast damage -- and by Leon and Lance.

Leon and Lance stood up on sea legs that steadied after a few heartbeats. Perceval, who had been close to the door, was brushing himself off.

Arthur blinked several more times and touched his ear. Everything was silent on the radio, but he didn't speak to order a check-in. Instead, he turned around and surveyed the damage through the bunker window.

Except he couldn't see. About thirty metres away was a wall of flame.

Merlin. Kay.

They'd been out in the open when the blast hit, and if it had struck the bunker this hard, if it had knocked _Arthur_ out for a few seconds when he was in the safety of the bunker, how much harder had it hit them? How hard had it hit the rest of his team?

Arthur turned around to look at Leon. Leon was thinking the same thing.

"Body count," Arthur said, his voice hoarse, his finger against his ear. "Check in, people. Check in."

_Please check in._

 

* * *

 

The leafy branches had cushioned Gwaine's fall, and the tangle of twigs had kept him from being rolled away in the aftershocks. He was seeing stars against the cloudy sky that was suddenly clear overhead, except for where the artificial canopy was being whipped by the wind.

Gwaine rolled onto his side; something gave under him and he was absurdly, stupidly disoriented. He fell; he fell and fell until he was jerked to an abrupt stop less just over a metre away from the ground, swinging slightly.

He stared at the grass -- the green, flattened grass, every blade pointing in one direction, which meant that the blast had come from the other way. Gwaine lowered his head, and looked past the hanging nylon straps at the huddle of bodies in the distance, recognizing the fatigues worn by his fellow -- now potentially former -- SAS. Gwaine remembered that they'd been further up the line, close to the bunker but not quite shielded by it except by a few men who had been in the lead --

Those poor sods --

 _Fuck my head is killing me_ \-- Gwaine blinked repeatedly, twisting his head around to see why he was hanging in mid-air. His harness was attached to a line that was fixed to a carabiner that was still looped around what was now his favourite tree branch. His favourite tree branch was wedged in the Y of another, larger tree branch suspended perpendicular to the ground.

Some fifteen metres up.

Gwaine fumbled at his harness, patting himself down, searching for a knife he was _sure_ was on his person somewhere, because he was never without, and then he remembered no, that was _Kay_ , who was like a fucking ninja with his martial arts and the way he could somehow conceal a knife everywhere on his person and --

_oh fuck_

Kay. Merlin. _Merlin_. Perce. Arthur. 

_oh fuck oh fuck_

There was an echoing, disembodied crunch of boots on dry wood nearby, and Gwaine twisted around on his rope, flailing madly for purchase. His ribs bumped into someone's legs, and a second later, he flopped down to the ground, hard.

He rolled over and onto his feet unsteadily, his hand going to his sidearm, and _that_ was where it was supposed to be but where was his rifle, damn it, he wanted -- there it was, wedged between the tree branches, and it looked intact --

He blinked stupidly at Geraint, who looked the worse for wear, the camo paint on his face smeared with copious amounts of dirt and blood. 

"Galahad?" he mouthed, and Geraint pointed; Galahad was somewhere down the line, checking the bodies of the other SAS soldiers, removing their weapons from reach, checking pulses. The way he kept moving -- albeit unsteadily -- hinted that those behind him hadn't made it.

Gwaine nodded to himself with thin lips and retrieved his rifle, but two steps in, his leg buckled under him. He stared at the piece of wood stuck through his calf stupidly, wondering why it was there. It seemed like an inconvenient spot to put a piece of wood --

"-- check in. Check in, damn it," the crackle of Arthur's voice zoomed in and out in his ear and Gwaine touched the side of his head, making sure the earwig was in place. It was. When he drew his hand away, he saw blood.

A rather fat lot of blood, too.

"We got down from the fucking trees, you stupid wanker. You saw it come, same as us, why didn't you get down the fucking tree," Geraint was saying, and it was hard to focus on his voice the way it kept echoing, distant and _whooming_. It took Gwaine a second to realize that maybe, just maybe, that _whooming_ effect was a wobble in Geraint's voice, because he'd been worried about Gwaine.

"Aw, I didn't know you cared," Gwaine said, patting Geraint's arm feebly, and even to his own ears, it sounded like something was wrong with his voice. He patted his chest but he was surprisingly injury-free. Mostly.

He tried to get up again with Geraint's help, hobbling along on his leg, because so far the other leg was proving dangerously traitorous, and he couldn't trust it as far as he could throw it. He motioned for Geraint to go and get his rifle from the carnage that was -- that had been -- the forest, and tapped his earwig to answer Arthur's repeated calls for check-ins.

"Your friendly neighbourhood Overwatch-one is clear," Gwaine said. "Two and three are with me. We have no elevation. Repeat, we have no eyes on the terrain. Three is checking your six, but it looks like the five-by-fours got clobbered by a two-by-four."

"Christ, be serious for once," Perceval's voice came on the line, terse and worried and irritated, but Gwaine was sure that the _whooming_ echo was Perceval being relieved.

So far, most of Owain's team and Lamorak's team had called in, with others calling on their behalf; they'd all been stunned and knocked on their arses. The approaching enemy from the south had been hit, too, a thirty-six count trimmed down to only eight mobile.

There hadn't been a peep from Kay and Merlin, and after Geraint helped him limp closer to the bunker, Gwaine saw why -- or rather, he didn't see shite. There was a wall of flame around the Crater, taller than Perceval, and it stretched from one side of the testing field to the other.

"Fuckfuck _fuckfuckfuckety_ FUCK," Gwaine said, hopping one-legged to the bunker. One of the downed SAS soldiers grabbed his ankle; Gwaine used the butt of his rifle to crush the man's wrist and kept on hopping, barely huffing a hasty "Sorry, mate" along the way.

Galahad caught him before he fell flat on his face.

"Get me up there. _Get me on the fucking roof_ \--" at Galahad's dubious look, Gwaine grabbed his arm and squeezed so tight he could feel the bones grinding together. "I'd just hold everyone back right now. We need eyes above -- get me _up there_."

Geraint arrived in time to hear what Gwaine said, and the two G's traded a look; Geraint nodded, shouldered his rifle, and wove his fingers together in a basket.

 

* * *

 

The one voice Arthur wanted to hear the most hadn't called in on the line. They were down two people, and that was Merlin and Kay.

As soon as he heard Gwaine's voice on the line and Geraint's confirmation that the area was clear, Arthur nodded and Perceval unlocked the steel girders on the bunker doors. He opened it slowly, peering out, making double-sure, and didn't step out until he'd confirmed that it was safe.

Dust rained down on them.

Arthur glanced up. He heard a faint thump.

"Out. Now," Arthur ordered; he was the last one out. The ceiling was crumbling even more but there were no warning noises that it was about to collapse. He tapped his earwig and said, "Transport-1, rig a truck, get your arse over. Evac precious cargo."

By precious cargo, he meant Gwen and Morgana, both of whom shouldn't be here right now. Owain had already disabled the trucks that had brought them here, protecting them from the EMP damage should shite hit the fan, and it was lucky that he had, because the shite _had_ hit the fan. Getting the trucks started up again was a matter of replacing the parts he'd removed, bypassing the onboard computers, and making do without power steering.

"Ten-by, over," Owain said. "ETA six minutes."

"Make it three," Arthur said. He surveyed what was his team right now -- Gwen and Morgana stood a bit pale-faced off to the side. Lance was checking out Geraint and Galahad. Perce was looking around searchingly, and Arthur did the same -- as much to make certain that the area truly was clear as it was to see if they could find Gwaine.

Where the fuck was Gwaine?

He must have spoken out loud because Geraint said, "Up top," and Gwaine answered with "Up here," and Galahad pointed to the top of the bunker.

Arthur saw the line of blood streaked up the rough cement wall, and said, "You're injured."

"Can't feel it," Gwaine said. "Doesn't matter. I'm staying here, I'll be the eyes. Just don't forget me on your way out."

Arthur exhaled. He nodded to himself. He couldn't give orders if he didn't know what was going on. He asked, "What do you see?"

"Southbound eight broken up in four-by-two, splitting up along the… the… fire-moat's perimeter," Gwaine said. Before Arthur could ask what the "fire-moat" was, he decided that it was as good a name as any for the wall of fire keeping them from Merlin and Kay. "Four coming our way. ETA ten minutes, I guess. Plenty of debris slowing them down. One team's collecting the recording equipment that got blasted to shite."

"Okay," Arthur said.

"West and west by northwest is clear."

"Okay," Arthur said.

"Movement to the east perimeter. Trees are still up there, just a bit bowed, blast effect was our side and south side. Moat's stretching east to the treeline and stops. Heads west, then north, stops at the hill. There's our entry, ladies and gents --"

"Okay," Arthur said again. He resisted the urge to hurry Gwaine along to what he needed to hear the most.

"I'm seeing party crashers, six by four, north by east and east," Gwaine said. Six teams of four people. "Heavily armed. Some of them don't look like they're carrying."

 _Sorcerers_ , Arthur knew.

"Two of them are breaking off. Heading into the Crater," Gwaine said, his tone grim.

He didn't need to say it out loud. It echoed in his tone, and Arthur felt himself seize up, cold paralysis pouring down his limbs. _Toward Merlin and Kay._

Arthur caved in. "How are they?"

Gwaine's silence spoke volumes. It was a long time before he spoke. "Not moving."

Arthur exhaled but it came out as a shaky gasp. He blinked at the sting in his eyes and shook himself out of it. Merlin and Kay were all right. They had to be. They'd been stunned unconscious, that was all. They'd get up any minute now. 

The hollow feeling in his soul did not help him convince himself.

He swallowed hard. Gwen. Morgana. His team. He had to get them out of here. There were enemy teams coming up from the south, working toward them; probably not NWO, because the NWO wouldn't put their own in the line of fire.

Arthur pointed at Geraint. "Get Morgana and Gwen to the next bunker. Wait for Owain there."

"But --"

"Just go," Arthur said, giving Morgana a look, and it must have been a good one because she shut up on the spot and nodded. Leon turned to her and gave her one of his guns; the colour came back to her cheeks and she seemed more reassured. Gwen looked at the gun dubiously, muttered something along the lines of _taking lessons when we get back_ , and followed Morgana and Geraint. Arthur waited until they were out of earshot before ordering, "Galahad. Hold this position, watch Gwaine's arse, don't let anyone pass. When Owain gets here, you're both on that truck to the next bunker --"

"Oi. No," Gwaine called down.

"You need a better vantage point," Arthur snapped. When Gwaine didn't say anything except to grumble _fine, yeah, you're right, ground slopes, better view_ , Arthur said, "The rest of you are with me. We'll head west-and-north along the moat, see if we can find a way through."

Leon, Lance and Perceval all nodded. Arthur knew that they would rather stay with Morgana, Gwen and Gwaine, respectively, but they were too professional to object.

He tapped his earwig. "Transport-1, sitrep."

"Underway," Owain answered.

"Watch for unfriendlies," Arthur said. "We'll be on your route. Look for us, drop some of the C's."

If they couldn't find a break in the wall of fire, they would blow one through with the C4 explosives.

"Copy," Owain said.

"Comm-1," Arthur said, waiting until he received confirmation from Lamorak. "Take your team, head north, flank unfriendlies. Six by fours north by east and east positions. Consider them heavily armed _whatever they're carrying_."

"Copy," Lamorak said. "On our way."

Arthur paused to see if he'd missed anything, if there was a hole he hadn't plugged, but it was all that he could do right now.

Then, as if fully intending on throwing a wrench in Arthur's carefully-laid plans, the black storm clouds overhead, writhing and swirling like a living coil of snakes, thunder-cracked and pissed down rain.

"Oh, bugger it all," Gwaine said.

 

* * *

 

They were like ghosts through the forest -- a forest that wasn't nearly as thick as it needed to be to afford them enough cover -- but none of them were the three G's with their innate ability to sneak up on a deer in the wilderness and pat it on the head before it noticed. 

Lamorak was not counting Gareth, who was the fourth G, and about as stealthy as a crinkly bag of crisps in a movie theatre in the dramatic pause before the action exploded on the screen, but he wouldn't want anyone else to be at his side right now. For all that he was a bad luck magnet -- Lamorak still couldn't believe how many times Gareth's car had been rear-ended by someone who decided to start backing up in _traffic_ , all on the same day -- Gareth was one of the resolute steadfast and dogged-determined, unfazed by whatever Fate could throw his way, and as unflappable as Leon.

He'd never tell Gareth this, he'd never admit it, and he'd rather go to his deathbed denying it, but Lamorak envied him.

He envied the way Gareth picked up his semiautomatic after Arthur gave his orders and said, "Well, then, shall we show them what we're made of, gents?" as if they were about to pour out into a stadium for a footie game, the stands cheering for them. He envied the way that the others took strength in Gareth's unnatural calm, a calm that was there only because Gareth had gotten tired of asking what he'd done in a past life to deserve this. He envied the way that Gareth was oblivious to how much the team valued him, how much strength he gave them, and how easily he switched between the role of leader and supporter, because it was his support that Lamorak needed now.

They were going head-on against the NWO, and if he'd interpreted Arthur's unspoken warning correctly, the six by four somewhere off to the north by east by east were sorcerers.

Outnumbered and outgunned in the way that sorcerers could outgun them, Lamorak took a deep breath as he ran in double-time to get to the rough coordinates that Gwaine had radioed them.

Their job wasn't to take them down. The men in Excalibur were good -- they were downright _amazing_ , if Lamorak let himself have a bit of an ego about it -- but no one, no matter how good they were, could manage six teams of four and an unknown number of sorcerers. No, their job was to distract, to take down who they could, to give Arthur time to get onto the testing field to recover Kay and Merlin.

He tried not to think about the blast that had rattled the Crater. From his vantage point, it had looked as if it had been launched from a good distance away, maybe twenty, thirty klicks. There was _that_ in their favour, the knowledge that the sorcerer had probably launched it from far away because he or she would be dead weight in combat. He knew enough from the Directory lessons that had been crammed down all their throats that no matter how strong the sorcerer, a spell this powerful would take a lot out of them and knock them down for the count.

The missile-turned-fireball-turned-freaky-Cthulhu had focused a blast _away_ from the NWO. Lamorak's team -- Gareth, Pellinor, Bedivere -- had been rocked by the explosion, with Gareth (of course) knocked off his feet completely, but they'd been relatively unharmed. At first, he'd thought that it was simply because they were out of range of the worst of the shockwave -- and then he saw the aftermath through the binoculars.

The military would _kill_ to have a missile with a payload that could do this sort of directed damage. The wall of fire alone was fucking frightening.

The solid concrete bunkers on the other side of the testing ground were listing like a tent listed after it had been whipped to within an inch of its life by a storm. The surrounding trees had been flattened like the thunderclap-slash-cosmic event that had erupted in Tunguska. The brunt force of the missile -- he very sternly reminded himself not to use the term _magic missile_ even in his head, because his mind kept turning to the Dungeons and Dragons games he used to play as a kid, and there were no dice to use to make a saving throw -- had been directed west and south.

At Arthur's team, Gwaine's team, and Owain's team.

It might be too much to hope for that the NWO didn't know that Lamorak's team was here -- there were even odds that they knew and didn't care, or didn't know and still didn't care. The missile could have been equally thrown to take care of the party crashers.

From the radio chatter he'd heard, they'd been taken care of, all right. Or at least, their numbers reduced until they weren't a significant threat.

The wall of fire made sure that _none of them_ were a threat to the NWO at all. Lamorak didn't know how Arthur was going to get around that in time to get to Kay and Merlin, but he had every confidence that Arthur would get them out.

Fuck.

The rain -- it was coming down in a tropical downpour -- was nice, but it wasn't doing shite to quell the wall of fire, and it was making the ground slippery.

Of all the times for _Merlin_ to be down...

Lamorak grit his teeth and slowed down when he saw movement ahead. He signalled his men, gesturing for them to spread out. They knew their targets. They knew their jobs.

Six teams with four men each.

His team were only four.

Even odds.

He glanced at his watch. Counted down the last few seconds to the mark.

He gave the signal to fire.

 

* * *

 

The rain made everything slippery-slick and slowed them down.

Geraint, Gwen and Morgana had hurried from the others mainly because Geraint was nearly one hundred percent certain that, at any minute, Gwen was going to insist on going with Lance, while Morgana might shoot him if he refused. He really wished that Leon hadn't given Morgana a gun.

They'd slunk their way to the next bunker by way of the most covered route that he could manage -- the route that was as far away from the litter of bodies from the SAS soldiers -- as possible. There was no need to shock Gwen and Morgana any more than they'd been shocked. He told himself that he wasn't being sexist, that Gwen and Morgana scared the _shite_ out of him, and that was on a good day, but neither of them had been under combat conditions before, and they didn't need to see the aftermath up close. Still, the two women were holding up far better than Geraint had the first time he'd gone out on a mission, pre-Excalibur. By this point in the mission, he'd have been shaking like a bloody leaf. Gwen and Morgana? Their expressions were full of worry, with the faintest touch of nerves and hyperawareness, but they were as rock solid as anyone on the team.

It shouldn't surprise Geraint, but it did, in a way, despite knowing that Morgana came from Pendragon stock -- growing up with Uther and Arthur couldn't have been easy -- and that Gwen… Gwen always surprised Geraint. She was stronger than she looked, and it seemed that it didn't matter what you threw at her. She would shake it off, take a deep breath, and carry on, a true lady as any, poised and determined.

Those two women together -- if they'd ever joined the army, if they'd ever trained SAS, if they ever joined Excalibur, well, he and Galahad had joked that all they would have to do was hand them a gun, point them in the right direction, sit back with a cold beer, and enjoy the show.

Geraint spotted a body; he carefully led the women away from it. He ignored the pang of guilt that shot through him -- the soldiers who had come after them were SAS, and they probably hadn't known what they were getting into. Now, someone was going to have to tell their families that they were KIA, that they died in the service of their country --

 _Fucking fuckers_. Excalibur was doing this in the service of their country, but this bollocks, this sending their own against them? It wasn't right. 

Leaving them like this was even more wrong. Geraint resisted the urge to at least cover up the bodies, to call in for… for pickup, so that they could be taken home. He was on a mission, and right now, his mission was to make sure that Gwen and Morgana were safe.

Lance and Leon and Arthur trusted him to do it, and he wouldn't let them down.

The first bunker that they arrived at was in shambles; it looked like it had received the full force of the shockwave. He radioed in that they were moving to the next one, received confirmation from both Arthur and Owain, and hurried to the next.

He was dimly aware of Arthur, Leon, Lance and Perceval behind them somewhere, though on the other side, close to the wall of fire. They were in the open and moving quickly, frog-hopping from one spot to the next, spending a few minutes to see if they could find a way through.

 _God_. Geraint hoped that they found a place soon, because, well. Kay. Merlin.

Owain radioed in; he'd been momentarily delayed by some of the survivors from the southern assault. Bohrs was with him, providing cover as they pushed through. The second radio was confirmation that they'd reached Arthur's team -- that Arthur was gearing up, and that they wouldn't be long.

Thank fuck for that, because of them all, Arthur was the only one not wearing body armour.

Arthur and Merlin.

Geraint ignored the memory of seeing Merlin through the scope of his sniper rifle. He'd been flat on his back, his skin pale, his eyes shut, and it hadn't looked -- to him -- that he was even breathing. Instead, he focused on the task at hand -- the third bunker in the line was just as bad as the one that Arthur's team had been in when the blast hit, and they moved on to the fourth.

The fourth bunker was close to the tree line that was, somehow, still standing in some degree of vertical, providing shade and cover. Geraint motioned for Morgana and Gwen to stay behind him; he stopped and scanned, moved and stopped and scanned again and again, making certain that no one was around.

The safest place for them all was as far from the conflict as possible, and the fourth bunker looked like it could withstand a nuclear attack. It was in the shadow of the hill, not far from the Crater; the rearward side, toward the north by northwest, was completely sheltered by a looming forest and electrical fencing -- though he doubted that it was electrified now. The wall of fire -- the bloody _fire-moat_ , and he was going to have to tease Gwaine for not being able to come up with something that didn't sound like it came out of some cheesy fantasy novel -- stretched and extended beyond the bunker for at least another half-kilometre.

"I see the end of the moat," Geraint said into his radio. "I'm guessing a couple of kilometres from your position, half a klick from the last bunker in the line."

Arthur acknowledged curtly, and for a moment, Geraint was put out until he realized that, maybe, just maybe, Arthur didn't want to take that opening in case it was a trap.

Well. There was a reason _Arthur_ was the Captain, and not Geraint. He winced inwardly, wondering if he'd brought Morgana and Gwen too close to the conflict by accident, if they were too close to the enemy, but Owain and Bohrs were on their way and they'd be safe, soon.

Except for some scorch marks along the side, this bunker was virtually untouched. Geraint glanced at Morgana, who raised a brow; she stared back with every intention of following him in until he scowled at her and shook his head. "Let me check it out," he said, his voice a whisper.

In the distance, he could hear the gunfire, and he prayed that Lamorak and the others would be all right. They had the worst job of all of them -- going head-on with the sorcerers.

Head on, with one hand tied behind their backs.

 

* * *

 

"What's the plan?" Owain said, passing Arthur the bag of explosives. Arthur had shrugged out of his business suit and strapped on the Kevlar outer body armour -- his expensive Armani was going to get wrecked, but no one thought he gave a shite about that right now, not with Merlin and Kay trapped on the other side. He was geared up as much as he could get geared up without stripping down to his pants, and carrying everything that he could carry and still be mobile _and was still taking on more weapons_ , but Owain could tell from the way Arthur kept glancing at the wall of fire, that he was thinking.

Arthur's clothes were soaked through -- hell, they were all soaked through -- but they'd operated under worse conditions.

"There and there," Arthur said suddenly. "Perce --"

Owain held the C-4 out of reach. "No, no, I'm not trusting Perce with this --"

He half-turned and banged on the truck. Bohrs stuck his head out.

"Get the girls --" and by _girls_ , Owain included Gwaine and Geraint, and he saw Galahad smirk his _I'm so telling them that you called them that_ smirk. "Now. Get moving."

"Owain --" Arthur started to protest, but Owain was having none of it.

"Change of plans, Captain. You want this taken down fast? I'll take it down fast, and I'll make sure it stays down to give you a way out. Go on, then. We haven't the time. Lamorak's on a countdown, isn't he?"

The truck pulled out, veering away from the fire moat as much as possible, wobbling like a car on a ratty roller coaster, abused for too many years by passenger weight and the elements. Owain went on one knee when Arthur didn't raise a protest -- not that he would, because they all knew Owain knew his shite and could get things set up far faster than anyone else.

"Take cover," Owain said, glancing from side to side, gauging how much explosive to use and where to place them. It had to be far enough apart to bring down the wall in a good-sized chunk to let the team through; but still powerful enough to disrupt the magical field that was holding it up. He mentally did the calculations in his head, used a fudge factor the size of the uselessness that was the Directory, and unwound the detonation cord all the way to the bunker.

"Count it down," Owain said, glancing at Arthur. Arthur's expression was drawn, a little pale, strained. Owain didn't know how Arthur was holding it together; if it were him, he'd have gone berserker mode right now. 

Poor fucking Merlin. Poor fucking _them_ \-- because they needed Merlin and Kay right now.

Arthur kept his eyes fixed on his watch and held up his fist. Owain glanced at Leon, who was crouched beside Arthur, and nodded questioningly toward Arthur. Leon shook his head in a _he's okay_ gesture that Owain believed without question, because he'd never seen Arthur let anyone down.

Arthur's hand flashed in the air. Five. Four. Three --

 

* * *

 

"Help me the fuck down," Gwaine groused. He'd rolled to the edge of the bunker's roof, leaving a messy streak of blood behind. His leg ached -- fuck, it positively throbbed now, and it was hard to focus -- and Bohrs, the arse, wasn't getting out of the truck.

Instead, he backed up in an S before coming closer.

"You think I want to get wet? I'm not fucking stopping, you bastard," Bohrs said, and, screw it. Gwaine was in enough pain.

He rolled off the roof and into the bed of the truck. The contact knocked the breath out of his chest.

In the distance, over the rumble of the truck engine as Bohrs drove off, over the loud raindrops pattering on the earth, Gwaine could make out the sound of gunfire.

It was followed a second later by a low-grade teeth-rattling explosion somewhere behind them.

 _Get them, boys,_ Gwaine thought, and repositioned himself to guard the rear of the truck, kicking down the tailgate with his good leg.

 

* * *

 

Geraint heard the distant explosion and nodded to himself as he pushed the door to the bunker open. That meant that Owain and Bohrs weren't far behind them with the truck. If he were being honest, the further that he got Morgana and Gwen from this place, the better.

The bunker's lights flickered on reluctantly, and it was quick and easy to clear. But that wasn't what set his senses on full alert -- it was the gunshot behind him.

He turned around and saw Morgana, her arms raised, her hair plastered down around her face. Gwen was right behind her, looking pale.

"I saw something!" Morgana said.

There had been one time -- just one -- in Geraint's life when he'd made fun of a fellow soldier for having shot at "something" that he'd seen in the shadows. Just that one time. And when he'd carried his mate to the helicopter after they'd survived the ambush, he'd sworn _never again_.

He came up to Morgana and scanned the area. He paused long enough to say, "Make sure I'm not in your line of fire when you shoot."

"Who do you think I am, Galahad?"

"Pellinor, actually," Geraint said, flashing her a grin that he didn't feel. He continued to advance.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but the distant sound of gunfire.

And then.

He couldn't breathe.

Something grabbed him by the throat and held him suspended in the air. He kicked out with his legs but only connected with rain. He dimly heard Gwen scream. He heard gunfire but didn't realize that it had come from his rifle. He heard gunfire again, and this time, he knew it was coming from Morgana.

He gasped and coughed. He clawed at whatever was at his throat -- he pulled at his red neckerchief, at the ties to his jacket, at his shirt.

He heard the click-click-click of an empty gun. Morgana killed her gun clip and she didn't have any spares. Geraint was carrying all the spares. He wanted to throw one at her, but he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

That was when he saw the shadowed figure emerge from the part of the forest that was still standing. It was dressed entirely in black, and he couldn't think of a single ninja joke right now, except that he was fairly certain they weren't supposed to be blonde.

Morgause took the hood from her head and smirked up at him from thirty feet away. He flailed some more, gagging, gasping. He saw the sparks of light at the edges of his vision, and he saw everything start to go black.

His hands were too weak around his rifle, but he raised and aimed and --

Went flying across the narrow clearing where he crashed into the side of the bunker.

 

* * *

 

Lamorak's anti-sorcery charm -- the one Kathy had made and Merlin had reinforced, a big spell in the tiny body of a bear hanging from a flimsy leather cord -- was burning hot against his chest. 

He was under no delusions that it was his brilliant cleverness, his insane speed, or his big, blistering constitution was the reason why he hadn't been blown off his feet by now. He was actually surprised by how well the charm was holding up, but if the heat coming from it was any indication -- heat that was burning a bear-shape into his chest, right between his collarbones -- he was pushing his luck.

They all were.

Lamorak was ordering a chaotic tangle of tactics to keep the NWO sorcerers off-balance. He'd started with keeping his team together to concentrate the power of the charms, drawing the biggest spells from the sorcerers and depleting their magic. Immediately after, he'd barked the scatter order, and now, the team was picking off the sorcerers as best they could, considering the protection they were under.

They were _fucked_. There wasn't any other way around it. They couldn't distract the NWO for much longer, but they damn well were going to try.

He saw Pellinor in the distance, barely visible in the combined darkness from the swirling storm clouds, the pelting wall of rain, and the forest around them. He was lodged behind a thick oak tree, his wide shoulders still sticking out a bit, and it was the combined blast of the bright of some sort of light missile and pelting machine gun fire that gave Lamorak a hint of just how much more desperate things _actually_ were. 

"-- taking heavy fire -- advise --"

"Sorcerer down -- eleventy hundred thousand and one more to go --"

" _fuckshitgoddamn_ \--"

The last came from Pellinor, audible both with and without the radio, echoing in concert with the crack of a tree splintering. At first -- the darkness was misleading -- it looked as if the tree had been hacked down, that it was about to topple over, but Pellinor's shriek of surprise made Lamorak take another look. The tree was growing bloody _arms_ , and it was a fucked-up sight clean out of childhood cartoons with walking and talking trees --

Pellinor wrenched his body away, but now he was in the open. Lamorak twisted his body and shifted his aim; he opened fire at the NWO who were targeting Pellinor to give him some cover to get away.

A _fff-schwoosh_ from overhead made Lamorak think _helicopters_ and wonder _whose side are they on_ , but it was too faint and didn't have the right frequency. Whatever it was, the NWO hesitated; the sorcerers cut their incantations short, and even the gunfire was throttled back until the only gunfire came from Lamorak's men.

For a second, Lamorak thought that they had an opening to press forward. He almost barked the command for another change in advance when a thick, heavy shadow floated over the forest, shrouding them in near-complete darkness and near-complete dryness as it passed by.

It was too large and too silent to be any helicopter that he knew of, even the super-stealth heli that Pendragon Consulting were manufacturing now to beat out the models already in the military.

 _Fff-schwoosh_. A pause, like a drumbeat. _Fff-schwoosh_.

It almost sounded like wings.

Whatever it was, the NWO was _shitting bricks_. They fired a few half-arsed clusters of bullets at Lamorak's team without aiming, hitting trees and dirt more than anything else, but most of their attention was directed up and west, and they were moving.

Toward the Crater. Toward Merlin. Kay. The prototype.

"Advance," Lamorak barked, and he was the first to step out from behind cover, advancing at slow steps while squeezing the trigger of his semiautomatic in short, measured bursts. His team was in a straight line sweeping forward, pressing their advantage.

One of the retreating sorcerers turned around wildly -- Lamorak saw his eyes glow with a red flash in the dark, and _thank fuck_ for that, because then they wouldn't have known who to target first -- shouted a word, and a wall appeared in front of them, lit up in shades of sickly green, before fading.

Their bullets were stopped by the shield. It stretched as wide as Lamorak's team was scattered, and there was no telling how far it went.

Lamorak bit back a curse. "Six by four now four by three, heading west into Crater. Cannot pursue. Repeat: Cannot pursue --"

 

* * *

 

"Fall back to secondary position," Arthur said. He could see the NWO breaking through the far side of the field, coming their way. "Good job."

Owain's explosives had carved a hole in the fire-moat wide enough for Arthur and the others to go through, and the opening looked like it was going to remain stable. The five of them had rushed in after a quick clearing sweep to evaluate the scene.

The equipment table was shattered; of the scattered bits that Arthur could see, there were no identifiable parts remaining, not even the table's surface, not even the legs.

The ground had been scorched clean by the blast, flattened and smoothed where it had been an unruly course better suited for off-roading, but the rain was taking care of that by turning it into a giant mud pit with the faint smell of sulphuric fumes and fertilizer. The device had been knocked onto its side, but it was the only object that was still intact -- and whether or not it was because of the construction or because the missile had been magicked to leave it alone, Arthur wasn't sure.

"Leon. Owain -- grab the prototype." He had to shout to be heard over the rain. "Perce, Lance, with me."

He ran toward Merlin and Kay, the mud slowing them down, sucking his feet into the muck. His thighs burned, his heart pounded, and he could see that the NWO had the same idea, because they'd split their men into two groups -- one heading for both Merlin and Kay, the other for the prototype.

"Hearing signs of airborne support. No visual. Repeat, no visual. Cannot identify if friendly --" Lamorak said, and Arthur glanced up at the sky. He didn't see anything. He didn't hear anything. But that came as no surprise.

The rain redoubled its efforts to turn the testing field into Noah's Flood. Every step they took, running or otherwise, was a forward-backward slide. The progress they made seemed for naught when the magical storm decided to throw in hurricane-speed winds into the mix. It howled and raged around him, nearly completely muting every sound, including the voices from his earwig.

Perceval took over the lead, grabbing Arthur's vest to haul him out of a mud pit that was more quicksand than earth; he served as a wind block that Arthur helped shove forward, one hand on Perceval's back, the other on his semiautomatic rifle. Lance caught up and mimicked Arthur, and it was with relief that Arthur realized they were finally advancing.

But the NWO was faster. The wind and the rain didn't seem to be hampering them as much; one man walked in the lead of the group, one hand stretched outward. Arthur thought he saw the rain fall on a magical shield, every drop making it shine.

Arthur pushed Perceval with renewed desperation.

They couldn't let the NWO get to Merlin and Kay first.

 

* * *

 

"Why don't we just grab and go?" Owain shouted. The wind was blowing at his back and his jacket was acting like a sail. He was having a hard time keeping his footing -- he kept sliding forward into the disruptor, and he'd already braced himself with one knee in the muck and his hip against the fallen support.

Their orders were to save the prototype if they could, to destroy it if they couldn't, with a preference to outright crush the device if they had to. None of them had anticipated that they couldn't do either.

The NWO was bearing down on them with dogged determination; they sliced through the weather unaffected, and that part _sucked balls_ , as far as Owain was concerned. The enemy would be on them in no time -- first in weapons range, then in the sorcerer's range, and although he had every faith that the charm around his neck would protect him against some of the magic, it would do shite against bullets. He had body armour for that, but a lucky shot was all that they needed.

Owain's fingers were numb in the cold rain. The wind was howling so much that he knew Leon said something only because his lips moved. He shook his head and pointed at his ear with a finger that wasn't holding the wires to the trigger for the explosives. "What?"

"Grab and go _where_!" Leon shouted, but it was less of a question directed at Owain and more at himself, as far as Owain could tell. _Where_ didn't matter as long as they got the fuck out of there. Owain didn't care. His job was to disarm things or blow them up; Leon's job was to do all the thinking for him.

The way the wind was blowing, they would be going with it; the return trip through the opening in the fire-moat was still there -- 

Owain verified that it was still there with a quick over-the-shoulder glance, shaking his head in disbelief that the fire-moat continued to burn and rage despite the lack of fuel and the _goddamn_ rain. With the wind thrown into the mist, it should have sputtered out by now, or at least moved and spread, but it was immobile, like a wall.

He didn't tell Leon _how about the way we came_ because even he could see the problem. With the NWO nearly on them, they ran the risk of getting shot in the back on their way, or worse.

They could shoot in defence to slow them down, but Owain wasn't sure how far the bullets would travel in this wind. For now, at least, the enemy wasn't shooting at them.

"Blow it up!" Leon decided finally, though they both already knew that this was the plan all along anyway. Everything else was an _if only_ everything went in their favour.

"Yeah, yeah," Owain muttered under his breath, twisting the wires together. The C-4 had been stuck to the underside of the device -- all they needed was to lay down enough line to get out of shrapnel range, which meant upwind in this wind, which also meant closer to the NWO.

It really was going to suck balls.

He slipped to his feet a few times before finding his footing, shouted "Come on!", and unwound the detonator line as fast as he could. He barely registered that Leon wasn't following, that he was _firing_ at the NWO --

The sticky, muddy ground wasn't under his feet anymore, and the wind picked him up like he was a feather, because he _flew_ \--

The detonator line snapped out of his hands --

Owain twisted his body in the air in time to brace for impact, and he crashed shoulder-first into the mud, sliding a solid ten metres. The cold mud sluiced into his uniform, over his face, down his throat --

A solid weight crashed into him. He swore, rolled it off his chest, and after a stunned moment, Leon realized what happened and scrambled away from him. They struggled to their feet and watched helplessly as the sorcerer raised his hand to rip the C-4 from the device before he levitated it toward them. One of the armed men plucked it out of the air and turned back.

Leon raised his semiautomatic and fired. Owain found his gun in the muck and nearly dropped it, but he saw that pulling the trigger would be as useless as throwing rocks, because the _fucking sorcerers had some sort of shield --_

And they threw sickly, orange _somethings_ at them. Owain ducked for cover, shouting, " _Incoming!_ "

 

* * *

 

The rain was a proper bitch. Gwaine apparently agreed. He'd pounded on the back of the cab several times already, shouting, "I'm drowning back here!" 

It had taken some fancy driving to keep from getting stuck in the sluice that had formed between the fire-moat and the bunkers, and more than once, the tires didn't catch and left Bohrs wondering who would have to get out to push when he was the only one in the truck with working legs.

He stuck his head out of the window exactly once, got pelted and brained by the heavy raindrops that felt more like an executioner's blade than water, and cursed in a long, imaginative string, because _of course_ these trucks might be equipped with all terrain tires, but they were so threadbare that it was like walking on ice with slippers on.

No traction whatsoever. Even Gwaine was slip-and-sliding all over the back of the truck, unable to brace himself properly with a piece of oak through his leg.

And the windshield wipers? Useless. The passenger-side wiper snapped off, but didn't break off, and now it was scratching across the glass. The sole remaining wiper was hydroplaning and not doing much of a job of clearing the view.

The first thing that Bohrs saw when he approached the bunker was the big blurry grey blob that made up the roof and the walls of the meeting point. The second thing that he saw was nothing whatsoever. There was no movement, no sign of Geraint and the girls.

Geraint would have been keeping a lookout for their approach. As soon as Geraint saw the truck, he would've cleared the area and urged Morgana and Gwen out of the barracks just as Bohrs pulled up as close as he could to the building.

There was nothing. The engine roared, but it sputtered every now and then as if it was drowning. The truck rocked and shook like a gang of protesters surrounded it and were trying to flip it over.

Bohrs slowed down -- a bad idea in this terrain, but it wasn't as if he had a choice, because it was better to be safe than stupid -- and squinted through the glass. He tapped his earwig.

"G? I'm here. Get your arse out --"

There was no response. For a moment, Bohrs thought that his check-in had gotten lost in the radio chatter -- it fucking sounded _dire_ out there, and he wished that he was out in the field with the rest of the team, but this was his job, right now, and that was getting Morgana and Gwen to a safe place.

Bohrs palmed his gun. He wanted to lean on the horn, but he didn't want to attract attention, and with his luck, he'd attract the wrong sort. Instead, he fought against the wind to push the driver's side door open and stepped out of the car.

He slapped Gwaine's arse over the edge of the truck. "Watch my six!"

"Where's G?"

"I don't know. It's too quiet."

Bohrs slapped the side of the truck and worked his way closer to the bunker.

He broke in an aborted run -- slipping a few times because of the mud and the wind that came out of _nowhere_ \-- when he saw the form slumped by the bunker door.

_Geraint_

He was face-down in the mud and probably _drowning_ , but Bohrs couldn't take the time to check, to see if he was all right. Bohrs did a circuit around the building as quickly as he could, kept his eyes trained to the horizon to look for movement, and when he returned to Geraint, he grabbed his shoulder and checked for a pulse.

_Thank fuck._

Bohrs left an unconscious Geraint leaning against the bunker, trying to ignore -- for now -- how Geraint's arm was crooked at an unnatural angle, how his head still had blood on it that even the torrential rains weren't washing it away. He went to the bunker door, found it ajar. It was dark inside; he fished his flashlight out of his back pocket without searching for it, and went inside.

The long slow circuit to check the bunker was a complete waste of time. No one was there.

There was no sign of Morgana or Gwen.

"Fuck!"

Whatever tracks there might have been had been washed away. There would be no point in trying to find them right now. He could only hope that Morgana and Gwen had taken off, that they'd remembered Arthur's contingency plan, that they would head to the meet-up location on foot, that they were _all right_. He could only pray that no one had taken them.

Bohrs found Geraint in the same position that he'd been left in. He holstered his gun and pulled Geraint from the mud -- the mud was a greedy bitch because it wouldn't let Geraint go until it suddenly _did_ , and there was a squelshing sound when he was finally free. Bohrs nearly toppled onto his arse, caught himself in time, and fireman-carried Geraint to the truck.

He was halfway there, already thinking of a plan -- if the ground was this bad on this side of the fire-moat, it wasn't going to be any better on the other, and he'd hamper more than hinder the others if he tried to cut around the opening that was just in sight where the fiery wall abruptly stopped a little ways up, and it would be best if he met them at the opening that Owain must have blown through -- when he stopped abruptly, hearing a sound.

_Fff-schwoosh_

_Fff-waaaap_

_Fff-schwoosh_

A black shadow passed overhead.

" _Fuck me,_ " Bohrs said, his eyes wide. He looked over to the truck where he saw Gwaine siting up, sniper rifle against his shoulder, scanning the skies.

 

* * *

 

"-- repeat: I'm seeing --"

The crackling sputter of Bohrs' voice over the comm line was almost impossible to make out, but Arthur didn't have time to stop and think about what Bohrs was saying.

"-- coming _crackle_ way. Repeat --"

The enemy raised their guns in a swinging movement that brought the muzzles to bear on the three of them, and Arthur roared, "Get down!"

The mud was at least somewhat soft, if icy cold. It seeped through the cracks of Arthur's Kevlar vest and through the expensive fabric of his business suit. He put his rifle against his shoulder and returned fire -- shots to kill, all of them. He might not be a crack shot like Gwaine, but at this distance, no one could possibly miss their targets.

Except for the wind and the magic shield protecting the NWO.

He timed it as well as he could, waiting for the moment when the sorcerer dropped the shield to let the men shoot. It was a calculated guess on his part, an assumption that the NWO sorcerers weren't anywhere near as good or as strong as Merlin, and who couldn't modulate their shield in such a way that they could block the shots coming at them, while allowing shots through toward the enemy. And he was right, because he took one, two, three shots, and three men went down --

Two more from the left side where Perceval was aiming --

Another two from Lance --

Before the shield went back up and the NWO were forced to drop their guns. The man in the lead shouted -- Arthur thought he recognized one of the men who had been there when Arthur handed over the hard drive, the ones who had been with the South African -- but his words were lost to the storm.

Actions spoke louder than words, because the remaining sorcerers spread out and guarded their rear as they headed for Merlin and Kay.

 _Oh, hell, no_. Arthur scrambled to his feet. He approached at a hurried trot until he was within arm's length of the shield that the sorcerers were moving with them.

"Don't," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't."

One of the men dragged Kay off of Merlin. He hooked a hand in Kay's Kevlar vest and dragged him off, the mud making it easy, but the dead weight, not so much. Arthur thought that they would leave Kay, but the man kept moving.

Merlin's backpack was slung over someone's shoulder, who went to help the first man drag Kay toward the forest's edge on the east side of the Crater.

Merlin... It took some doing for the NWO to get Merlin out from the mud, but they managed. It took two of them and the judicious use of magic to get Merlin propped up against one of the taller soldiers, who wrapped an arm possessively around Merlin's torso. Merlin's head lolled down, his skin was ashen, his mouth slack, boneless, unconscious, unresponsive.

The man pressed a gun to Merlin's temple.

Arthur's heart pounded. "No. Don't. Don't --"

He took a hasty step forward, only to be stopped by the shield. It didn't only stop bullets, it stopped people, too. Arthur's shout of outrage and frustration was the only thing not drowned by the storm, and it seemed that the soldier heard him, because he smirked. He said something to the sorcerers that Arthur didn't catch over the tear of the wind. The one closest to Arthur nodded and raised a hand.

His eyes glowed red.

Arthur's finger tightened around the trigger, ready to squeeze at the first hint of an opening. Any sign of weakness. _Anything._

The shield rippled and turned on them, bending, curling, wrapping until it surrounded Lance and Perceval and Arthur on all sides, twisting and engulfing them. The roaring wind abated to a dull, distant whoosh and hiss; the rain pattered and poured down the sides of the shield, which had formed into a circle.

With them inside.

"Fuck! _No!_ " Arthur shouted, his voice absurdly loud now, and he lunged at the shield, ramming it with his shoulder again and again. He heard a thump beside him; it was Perceval, doing the same. Lance was stabbing at the surface with a carbon-fibre knife to no effect.

Through the water-coated shield, Arthur could just make out the enemy waving a hand in farewell, Merlin's slumped body, their retreat.

Arthur howled. He raised the butt of his rifle in the air and used it like a club against the shield.

This was the plan. This was the plan all along, for the NWO to get Merlin, to place Merlin behind the enemy lines, to gain an advantage that they didn't have, to put an end to all this fucking bollocks instead of playing the Directory's games.

But Arthur had changed his mind. He didn't want them to have Merlin. He didn't want them to take Kay. _Goddamn it. Goddamn it!_

The shield showed no signs of cracking under the abuse. Arthur's arms ached from the effort. But he didn't stop, he couldn't stop, he had to --

A reverberating rumble -- no, a _roar_ \-- shook the air and the ground and the shield around them. Arthur saw a shape, an impossible shape, sweeping down in an arc, wings nearly perpendicular with the ground, long tail trailing out behind it. 

A dragon.

A fucking _dragon_.

That was what Bohrs had been trying to tell them.

"Oh, bollocks," Perceval gasped.

The dragon wasn't big. The analytical part of Arthur's mind calculated dimensions -- approximately larger than a small tank, the body at least twelve metres long, the tail at least twice that, the wings even longer. The body was sleek and serpentine, the long neck flared with scales, the maw big enough to swallow a man whole. Twenty tons, maybe more.

It was an aerial war machine with incredible manoeuvrability despite the severe winds and the pounding rain, equipped with a natural flamethrower with the properties of Greek Fire on contact, armoured with scales that could probably repel bullets, and armed with teeth and claws and speed and strength.

_A dragon._

Arthur lowered his gun. He walked to the far edge of their circle-shield prison, looking around them for the first time. It wasn't as if they could see much, not with the rain and the pitch-black storm clouds overhead. For the first time in what seemed like hours, he focused on the radio chatter. Lamorak's team had pulled out to their secondary position where they would ambush any of the retreating NWO on their return from the Crater. 

He dimly heard Lance respond to Lamorak to warn them that the NWO now had Merlin and Kay.

Owain called in with a frantic, "Man down. Man down. _The fuckers got the prototype_ \--"

And Perceval ordered Owain to grab Leon and _pull back_ to their exit on the west side, because it was the closest exit for them. Bohrs said that he'd be waiting -- that he was _sorry_ , that Geraint was hurt, that the girls --

That Morgana and Gwen were gone. He didn't know where they were. Geraint couldn't tell him; he was unconscious.

Arthur's heart sank. His plans had worked too well and hadn't worked at all. The NWO had Merlin. They had Kay. They had the prototype. There was a chance that they also had Morgana and Gwen.

They were at the NWO's mercy.

A blast of flame chased after a small group of men who were running up from the south to catch up with the others. It seared the ground and made the rain crackle and spit, and wherever the fire touched ground, it continued to burn.

The dragon swept up in the air and came lunging down a second time, wings partially folded against its body, and that was when Arthur thought he saw --

A man.

A man riding the goddamn dragon.

The dragon spat out another blast of fire that was shielded by the sorcerers. They were running now, moving as fast as possible.

The dragon soared up a second time, performed a tight turn, and crashed down in the middle of the cluster, its heft and weight shattering the shield. Its wings flashed open, it heaved down and rose in the sky with a thunderous --

_Fff-waaaap_

\-- and it tore several bodies from the ground in the process, dropping them one by one as it gained altitude.

It didn't come back. The dragon's shape disappeared somewhere in the storm.

None of the NWO got to their feet. They stayed where they had been crushed beneath a _dragon_ 's claws.

"We've got party crashers," Gareth announced, and Arthur could hear the suppressed alarm even over the gunfire that was coming through the comms. He whirled around, and, sure enough, he could make out figures running down the hill and heading into the forest, fading out of sight. He squinted, covering his eyes to try to see through the water-soaked shield, water pouring around them and making the ground muddier, and more unstable, and he thought he saw flashes of muzzle fire in the distance.

Except that wasn't muzzle fire, he realized.

A thunderous crash tore through the sky. Lightning flashed beneath the curve of the roiling clouds. They were tendrils at first, like neurons lighting up for the first time. They thickened and flashed again, illuminating the whole of the testing grounds.

Arthur saw figures moving in the dark, serpentine, sinuous, sleek. They were the size of Humvees, small helicopters, their bodies long and graceful. Their wings were unfurled, hanging low in a pose ready to catch the faintest breeze and take to the air in an instant. 

There were men on their backs.

The lightning flashed again. And again.

And it was pulled down, drawn to the earth as if seeking a lightning rod. It scattered in branches through the forest --

" _Get down_ ," Arthur roared, hoping that Lamorak and his team would hear him in time.

\-- and everything went dark.

It happened all in a matter of seconds. For a moment, Arthur thought that it was over, that the newcomers had won the battle. He remembered the shadows of dragons moving through the Crater like they owned the place --

Blue phosphor arced from the forest, shattering the gloom. Half-moons spiralled like knives in the forest, heading in the opposite direction that the lightning had gone in.

"Retreat. Retreat _now_ ," Lamorak shouted on the comms, and whatever it was that they were seeing, it had to be bad.

Something green and fluorescent-bright flushed through the forest like a living fog. It was answered with flashes of yellow, but the green continued to creep until the rain battered it down.

There was a loud, distant rumble. Except for the echo of the sound reverberating against the thick cloud cover, it almost sounded as if it was a command.

It must have been, because all of the dragons in the Crater leaped in the air with a deafening flap of their wings. One by one they dove into the forest, concentrating on one area, and bounded into the air again.

"What the --"

"In- _coming_! _Incoming_! Dead west, targeting Comms last location --"

Arthur whirled around. Even through the sluice of rain curtaining around the shield, he could see the missile coming their way.  
It had been lobbed up high and it was coming down at high speed. It grew in size as it traveled down, as if the wind and the rain was feeding it energy instead of putting it out. When it reached the apex, right before descent, it looked like the sun.

And the sun was falling.

The angle was steep, direct, and far too fucking close for comfort. It would land somewhere in the forest, but the aftershocks --

Arthur was dimly aware of Lance and Perceval banging desperately on the shield, trying to find an opening. Lance started to dig but the mud was sliding in faster than he could shovel it away.

He couldn't move. He was frozen, but not in fear. His mind reached out in a million different directions, trying to make sense of everything.

If Olaf was right, if Bayard was colluding with the NWO, then he wouldn't have ordered an attack against them. If Olaf was wrong, and Bayard was not only following up on the message that Arthur had left for him, but providing assistance against the NWO...

The Directory didn't _have_ firepower like this. They didn't have dragons. They couldn't pull lightning from the sky. They couldn't launch magical missiles that landed with the force of a small meteorite. And they certainly didn't have men who could operate with military precision. That assault from the hill -- even if it had been obscured by the rain-soaked shield -- smelled like trained manoeuvres to him. 

_Who were these men?_

The missile was moving fast.

Arthur's mind was moving faster. The Directory might not have much by way of a fighting force _now_ , but they had one, before.

They had one before.

And from what little Arthur had gleaned, that Gilli had revealed, that team was MIA.

Arthur _knew_. He knew who these men were. They were the mysterious group working against the NWO in the background, who were frustrating the NWO's -- and the Directory's -- every attempt to move forward.

But to move forward to what? What were these men trying to stop?

The missile was close, too close. Arthur could feel the heat of it even through the shield.

" _Cover!_ " Perceval shouted.

Arthur was pulled down to the mud just as the missile landed in the distance with a rocking blast.

Everything went white.

 

****

 

**

**ooOOoo**

**

 

 ****

 

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

The night nurse watched in concern as Hunith pulled her raincoat over her uniform. She zipped it up to the throat and flipped up the collar. Hunith shared a glance with Shelley, and the two turned their heads toward the window at the end of the hall, where sheets of rain were coming down. The streetlights that shone just outside on a normal night were curtained from sight.

"It's only a little rain," Hunith said with a smile.

"I'd hate to see your definition of 'a lot'," Shelley said, shaking her head. "If I were you, I wouldn't drive in this."

"If it were up to you, we'd all be filthy rich and living off of chocolate and a daily regiment of _Eastenders_ ," Hunith said, glancing meaningfully to the small television set that Shelley had snatched out of the maintenance room and stuck beneath the nurse's station for slow nights. One of the young soldiers staying in residence for his rehabilitation had hooked it up to a portable DVD player, and Shelley had been in heaven ever since. "I know your husband dropped you off."

"He wouldn't let me drive anyway," Shelley said with a shrug. "Half of the roads are washed out. Someone even said that there was a tornado."

"Where?"

"Well, by the seashore --"

Hunith rolled her eyes. "Like I said, it's only a little rain."

"I could ask Peter to come pick you up --"

"Oh," Hunith said, shaking her head disapprovingly. "You are not making Peter drive all the way out here in this weather just to drive me home. I will be fine. I've been through worse."

 _I've been in the wars,_ Hunith didn't say out loud, but she knew that Shelley would remember, eventually. Hunith wasn't a Major for nothing, and those medals weren't for exceptional and long service. Driving an ambulance in combat conditions, ducking bullets to rush soldiers to helicopters needing immediate attention, even treating grievous wounds on the battlefield -- that may have been an entire lifetime ago, but she wasn't a frail old lady.

Shelley had had it easy. She'd never seen active service -- she was too young. She had always only ever been at the veteran's hospital after a brief stint in the local emergency room proved to be too much for her. She was sweet, compassionate, thoughtful, kind.

Hunith didn't trust her for one damn minute. Her start date coincided with the day that Merlin's team began working for the Directory.

"Promise me that you'll be careful," Shelley said with a concerned smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Shelley," Hunith said.

Hunith glanced up at the corner mirror as she walked down the corridor, and saw Shelley tapping something into her phone.

She took the stairs instead of the elevator, in part because she didn't want to be trapped in the elevator if they were hit with another blackout, in part because she wanted to hurry and get home. 

The gale-force winds tore the hood from her head nearly as soon as she stepped outside, and Hunith hurried to her truck. It was an old, beat-up Land Rover that her neighbour kept in good running order of in exchange for the vegetables out of Hunith's garden. Hunith always thought the arrangement was unfair, even if Allan told her each time that he had promised Balinor to keep an eye on her all those years ago, and she regularly threw in the baked goods that she couldn't seem to stop making.

She should make another batch of brownies for Allan this week. The Land Rover's engine turned over without so much as a sputter of protest for all the rain that it had suffered for the last few days.

Hunith shook out her hair and turned the radio to the news before pulling out of the parking lot, glancing every now and then in the rearview mirror.

" _We are on our second day of our wonderful British weather, and I remind our listeners that the Met Office has issued a yellow severe weather warning for the following areas --_ "

Hunith stopped at the intersection. Even without the weather, at this hour, there were few people on the road, but tonight, the road was deserted. She waited for the light to change, glancing in the rearview mirror again, and her mouth tightened when she saw the headlights of the large black SUV creep up behind her.

" _The Met Office has traced the source of our lovely drizzle to an unusual pressure system that formed over France three days ago. Part of the French countryside was ravaged following a thunderstorm that resulted from high levels of humidity from the south and cold air currents from the north. The damage has been estimated in the millions of Euros --_ "

It was too dark to see who was driving the truck, and Hunith resisted first the urge to glance over her shoulder, then the desire to storm out of her car, bang on their window, and ask what they thought they were doing. Did they think that she was just as doddering as that girl, Shelley? They'd been following her for the last four days and doing a poor job of it, too -- and the only coincidence was that four days ago was the last time she'd heard from Merlin.

She spared another glance in the rearview mirror and drove on when the lights changed.

Although Merlin was home, or rather, as close to home as he could be in London, Hunith knew that Merlin was on a mission. She only knew some of the particulars -- Merlin didn't like to worry her with the details, not that he could tell her anything -- but she knew enough to know that he was undercover, and that he was staying away to protect her.

Just like his father.

Hunith hadn't liked it when Balinor had been recruited for the Directory, and she liked it even less now that her son was following in Balinor's footsteps. The Directory was the worst possible place for him to be, but she was reassured by the simple fact that Merlin's team _knew_ about him and that they would protect him. Gaius had promised her that.

" _While the United Kingdom and Europe are no strangers when it comes to terrible storms -- Hurricane Katia comes to mind -- experts are calling this particular stint of bad weather a direct result of climate change..._ "

Hunith snorted.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Hunith didn't believe that a windstorm that had appeared out of nowhere to wreck havoc first in France, with repercussions that reached as far away as England, and, at latest reports, the east coast of the Americas, had to do with "climate change". She'd caught Merlin tampering with the weather when he was young, and she was well and fully aware of the drastic ripple effects that such powerful magic caused. If Merlin had created this storm, then... he had better have a good reason, because Hunith was not looking forward to seeing how much of her garden she could salvage when the storm finally passed.

Merlin was going to get a talking-to the next time Hunith spoke to him on the phone. Or, at least, he was going to get as much of a talking-to as she could manage while not speaking in specifics over an unsecured line.

The windshield wipers of the Land Rover were doing frantic double-duty to keep the rain and the hydroplane splash from the lorries on the road when Hunith turned onto the highway leading out of Cardiff. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the black truck was still following.

She drove for twenty minutes at well below the posted limits, avoided the sideways-skid of a car trying to speed past, and slowed down to take her exit. Hunith didn't live anywhere near the flood zones, but some of the roads, including her own, had been washed out. She took the back route, silently thanking whoever had built the bridleway that went behind her property, and drove off-road through the gate that she had left open for exactly this reason. She parked as close to the house as she could manage, and was thoroughly soaked by the time she unlocked her front door and went inside.

Hunith didn't waste any time. She hung her coat on the hook in the mud room, kicked off her shoes, and went to the kitchen. The lockbox was hidden behind her collection of recipe books, and the gun was in the lockbox.

Loaded and ready since she first noticed that she was being followed.

She hid the lockbox again and put the gun in the pocket of her trousers before turning on the lights. If she was under surveillance, it would look strange if she didn't follow her usual routine.

She started with the kettle and took out the remnants of the stew she had made over the weekend. Betty -- Allan's wife -- had given her a fresh loaf of bread that would be delicious with the stew. The microwave ticked down the seconds only to come to an abrupt stop twenty-two seconds in.

Everything went dark. There was a powerful, earth-shaking blast of thunder, a blinding flash of lightning.

Hunith peered out the window and looked toward Allan and Betty's house, just visible down the slope. Allan always left the light on outside their front door after they retired for bed, and it was out now. She checked another window, another house, and their lights were out, too, including the bedroom light of the Sufford teenage boy -- his mother always complained that he stayed up all night playing video games instead of doing his homework.

It wasn't just her, then. Hunith relaxed and went to find the candles.

She had just finished lighting the last one, setting them around the kitchen so that she could make herself a sandwich while waiting for the power to turn back on, when a knock on the door made her pause.

"Allan, is that you?" Hunith called out, reaching into her pocket. The gun was a comforting weight in her hand; she flicked off the safety. "Allan?"

There was another loud, sharp rap on the door.

"Oh, for God's sake, Allan, you're going to give me a heart attack," Hunith said, pulling out her gun and keeping it ready. She peered through the peephole but it was too dark to see. She took a deep breath, squeezed the handle of the gun tightly, and opened the door.

It wasn't Allan. She hadn't expected it to be.

In the glow of the nearby candlelight, Hunith made out a young man wearing mud-and-rain soaked fatigues, his blond hair slicked back from the rain, his blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He was handsome, with a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, a noble bearing, solid and strong. There were cuts and scrapes on his face, a bruise at the temple, a swollen welt on his cheek that looked like a burn.

The lightning flashed again, this time in the distance; the thunder rumbling was even further away. In the fading afterglow, Hunith could make out several other figures just past the man who stood in front of her. They were dressed like him; in fatigues covered by mismatched jackets to ward off the rain. She made out one tall, large man supporting a shorter man favouring a leg and two other men leaning against the Land Rover as if in desperate need for support.

The light faded, and Hunith couldn't see them anymore. In her memory, she searched the image for signs of menace, of danger, but although the men had been armed, they didn't have their weapons at hand.

She turned her attention to the man in front of her. 

"Major Emrys." He cleared his throat. "I'm very sorry that we have to meet like this."

Hunith's heart squeezed in terror, and she looked past the man again. It was too dark, and she didn't think she would see the person she was looking for. _Merlin?_ she wanted to ask, but she couldn't do much more but to mouth his name.

"My name is Arthur Pendragon, and I'm..." Arthur paused, and the glisten of moisture in his eyes had nothing to do with the rain. He swallowed thickly, and said, "And I need you to tell me everything you know of a man named Balinor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd prefer to leave a comment via LiveJournal, you can do so on [the LJ post](http://loaded-march.livejournal.com/51656.html) for this part. Thank you!


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